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THE   FORGED  COUPON 


Mi 


T- 


ALYC 

MlSCELi 


D. 


Alexander  II. 

Sfifg/  ^ny^ravifi^  by  G ,  R.  Hull 


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THE  FORGED  COUPON 

AFTER  THE  DANCE 

ALYOSHA  THE  POT 

MISCELLANEOUS  STORIES 

By 

Lev   N.  Tolstoy 


Edited  By 

Dr.    Hagberg  Wright 


Boston 
Dana    Estes  &  Company 

Publishers 


PRESERVATtON 
QOPY  ADDED 
QRIGINALTOBE 

RETAINED 


COFYRXGHT,    19X2, 

By  DODD,  mead  &  COMPANY 


?Cr^■y^^^ 

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A  \6  t4^B 

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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction 3 

The  Forged  Coupon 5g 

After  the   Dance 185 

Alyosha   the   Pot 205 

My  Dream .  217 

There  are  no  Guilty  People 241 

The  Young  Tsar 263 


48758S 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGB 

PoRTRA.IT  OF  ALEXANDER  II.        .       .       .       .      Frontispiece 
Portrait  of  Peter  the  Great 188 


INTRODUCTION 

In  an  age  of  materialism  like  our  own  the  phe- 
nomenon of  spiritual  power  Is  as  significant  and 
inspiring  as  It  Is  rare.  No  longer  associated  with 
the  "  divine  right  *'  of  kings,  it  has  survived  the 
downfall  of  feudal  and  theocratic  systems  as  a 
mystic  personal  emanation  in  place  of  a  coercive 
weapon  of  statecraft. 

Freed  from  its  ancient  shackles  of  dogma  and 
despotism  it  eludes  analysis.  We  know  not  how 
to  gauge  its  effect  on  others,  nor  even  upon  our- 
selves. Like  the  wind,  It  permeates  the  atmos- 
phere we  breathe,  and  baffles  while  it  stimulates 
the  mind  with  its  Intangible  but  compelling  force. 

This  psychic  power,  which  the  dead  weight  of 
materialism  is  Impotent  to  suppress,  is  revealed 
in  the  lives  and  writings  of  men  of  the  most  di- 
verse creeds  and  nationalities.  Apart  from  those 
who,  like  Buddha  and  Mahomet,  have  been  raised 
to  the  height  of  deml-gods  by  worshipping  mil- 
lions, there  are  names  which  leap  inevitably  to  the 
mind  —  such  names  as  Savonarola,  Luther,  Cal- 
vin, Rousseau  —  which  stand  for  types  and  ex- 
emplars  of   spiritual   aspiration.     To   this   high 


4      ; ; :.,:..:  INTRODUCTION 

priesthood  of  the  quick  among  the  dead,  who  can 
doubt  that  time  will  admit  Leo  Tolstoy  —  a  genius 
whose  greatness  has  been  obscured  from  us  rather 
than  enhanced  by  his  duality;  a  realist  who  strove 
to  demolish  the  mysticism  of  Christianity,  and  be- 
came himself  a  mystic  in  the  contemplation  of 
Nature ;  a  man  of  ardent  temperament  and  robust 
physique,  keenly  susceptible  to  human  passions 
and  desires,  who  battled  with  himself  from  early 
manhood  until  the  spirit,  gathering  strength  with 
years,  Inexorably  subdued  the  flesh. 

Tolstoy  the  realist  steps  without  cavil  into  the 
front  rank  of  modern  writers;  Tolstoy  the  Ideal- 
ist has  been  constantly  derided  and  scorned  by 
men  of  like  birth  and  education  with  himself  — 
his  altruism  denounced  as  Impracticable,  his 
preaching  compared  with  his  mode  of  life  to  prove 
him  Inconsistent,  If  not  Insincere.  This  Is  the 
prevailing  attitude  of  politicians  and  literary  men. 

Must  one  conclude  that  the  mass  of  mankind 
has  lost  touch  with  Idealism?  On  the  contrary, 
in  spite  of  modern  materialism,  or  even  because  of 
it,  many  leaders  of  spiritual  thought  have  arisen 
in  our  times,  and  have  won  the  ear  of  vast  audi- 
ences. Their  message  Is  a  call  to  a  simpler  life, 
to  a  recognition  of  the  responsibilities  of  wealth, 
to  the  avoidance  of  war  by  arbitration,  and  sink- 
ing of  class  hatred  In  a  deep  sense  of  universal 
brotherhood. 


INTRODUCTION  g 

Unhappily,  when  an  idealistic  creed  Is  formu- 
lated in  precise  and  dogmatic  language,  it  invari- 
ably loses  something  of  Its  pristine  beauty  in  the 
process  of  transmutation.  Hence  the  Posltivlst 
philosophy  of  Comte,  though  embodying  noble 
aspirations,  has  had  but  a  limited  Influence. 
Again,  the  poetry  of  Robert  Browning,  though 
less  frankly  altruistic  than  that  of  Cowper  or 
Wordsworth,  Is  Inherently  ethical,  and  reveals 
strong  sympathy  with  sinning  and  suffering  hu- 
manity, but  it  is  masked  by  a  manner  that  Is 
sometimes  uncouth  and  frequently  obscure.  Ow- 
ing to  these,  and  other  instances.  Idealism  sug- 
gests to  the  world  at  large  a  vague  sentimentality 
peculiar  to  the  poets,  a  bloodless  abstraction  toyed 
with  by  philosophers,  which  must  remain  a  closed 
book  to  struggling  humanity. 

Yet  Tolstoy  found  true  idealism  In  the  toiling 
peasant  who  believed  in  God,  rather  than  in  his 
intellectual  superior  who  believed  in  himself  In  the 
first  place,  and  gave  a  conventional  assent  to  the 
existence  of  a  deity  in  the  second.  For  the  peas- 
ant was  still  religious  at  heart  with  a  naive  unques- 
tioning faith  —  more  characteristic  of  the  four- 
teenth or  fifteenth  century  than  of  to-day  —  and 
still  fervently  aspired  to  God  although  sunk  In  su- 
perstition and  held  down  by  the  despotism  of  the 
Greek  Church.  It  was  the  cumbrous  ritual  and 
dogma  of  the  orthodox  state  religion  which  roused 


6  INTRODUCTION 

Tolstoy  to  impassioned  protests,  and  led  him  step 
by  step  to  separate  the  core  of  Christianity  from 
its  sacerdotal  shell,  thus  bringing  upon  himself 
the  ban  of  excommunication. 

The  signal  mark  of  the  reprobation  of  "  Holy 
Synod  "  was  slow  in  coming  —  it  did  not,  in  fact, 
become  absolute  until  a  couple  of  years  after  the 
publication  of  "  Resurrection,"  in  1901,  in  spite 
of  the  attitude  of  fierce  hostility  to  Church  and 
State  which  Tolstoy  had  maintained  for  so  long. 
This  hostility,  of  which  the  seeds  were  primarily 
sown  by  the  closing  of  his  school  and  inquisition 
of  his  private  papers  in  the  summer  of  1862,  soon 
grew  to  proportions  far  greater  than  those  arising 
from  a  personal  wrong.  The  dumb  and  submis- 
sive moujik  found  in  Tolstoy  a  living  voice  to  ex- 
press his  sufferings. 

Tolstoy  was  well  fitted  by  nature  and  circum- 
stances to  be  the  peasant's  spokesman.  He  had 
been  brought  into  intimate  contact  with  him  in  the 
varying  conditions  of  peace  and  war,  and  he  knew 
him  at  his  worst  and  best.  The  old  home  of  the 
family,  Yasnaya  Polyana,  where  Tolstoy,  his 
brothers  and  sister,  spent  their  early  years  in 
charge  of  two  guardian  aunts,  was  not  only  a  halt- 
ing-place for  pilgrims  journeying  to  and  from  the 
great  monastic  shrines,  but  gave  shelter  to  a  num- 
ber of  persons  of  enfeebled  minds  belonging  to 


INTRODUCTION  7 

the  peasant  class,  with  whom  the  devout  and 
kindly  Aunt  Alexandra  spent  many  hours  daily  in 
religious  conversation  and  prayer. 

In  "  Childhood "  Tolstoy  apostrophises  with 
feeling  one  of  those  "  innocents,"  a  man  named 
Grisha,  "  whose  faith  was  so  strong  that  you  felt 
the  nearness  of  God,  your  love  so  ardent  that  the 
words  flowed  from  your  lips  uncontrolled  by  your 
reason.  And  how  did  you  celebrate  his  Majesty 
when,  word^  faihng  you,  you  prostrated  yourself 
on  the  ground,  bathed  In  tears."  This  picture  of 
humble  religious  faith  was  amongst  Tolstoy's 
earliest  memories,  and  it  returned  to  comfort  him 
and  uplift  his  soul  when  it  was  tossed  and  en- 
gulfed by  seas  of  doubt.  But  the  affection  he 
felt  in  boyhood  towards  the  moujiks  became 
tinged  with  contempt  when  his  attempts  to  im- 
prove their  condition  —  some  of  which  are  de- 
scribed in  **  Anna  Karenina  "  and  in  the  "  Land- 
lord's Morning  "  —  ended  in  failure,  owing  ta 
the  ignorance  and  obstinacy  of  the  people.  It 
was  not  till  he  passed  through  the  ordeal  of  war 
in  Turkey  and  the  Crimea  that  he  discovered  in 
the  common  soldier  who  fought  by  his  side  an  un- 
conscious heroism,  an  unquestioning  faith  In  God, 
a  kindliness  and  simplicity  of  heart  rarely  pos- 
sessed by  his  commanding  officer. 

The   Impressions   made   upon   Tolstoy   during 


8  INTRODUCTION 

this  period  of  active  service  gave  vivid  reality  to 
the  battle-scenes  In  "  War  and  Peace,"  and  are 
traceable  In  the  reflections  and  conversation  of  the 
two  heroes,  Prince  Andre  and  Pierre  Besukhov. 
On  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Borodino,  Prince 
Andre,  talking  with  Pierre  In  the  presence  of  his 
devoted  soldier-servant  TImokhlne,  says, — 

"  *  Success  cannot  possibly  be,  nor  has  it  ever 
been,  the  result  of  strategy  or  fire-arms  or  num- 
bers.' 

"  *  Then  what  does  it  result  from?  '  said  Pierre. 

"  *  From  the  feeling  that  is  in  me,  that  Is  In 
him  '  —  pointing  to  TImokhlne  —  '  and  that  Is  In 
each  Individual  soldier.'  " 

He  then  contrasts  the  different  spirit  animating 
the  officers  and  the  men. 

"  *  The  former,'  he  says,  *  have  nothing  in  view 
but  their  personal  interests.  The  critical  moment 
for  them  Is  the  moment  at  which  they  are  able  to 
supplant  a  rival,  to  win  a  cross  or  a  new  order.  I 
see  only  one  thing.  To-morrow  one  hundred 
thousand  Russians  and  one  hundred  thousand 
Frenchmen  will  meet  to  fight;  they  who  fight  the 
hardest  and  spare  themselves  the  least  will  win 
the  day.' 

"  *  There's  the  truth,  your  Excellency,  the  real 


INTRODUCTION  9 

truth,'  murmurs  TImokhine ;  *  it  is  not  a  time  to 
spare  oneself.  Would  you  believe  it,  the  men  of 
my  battalion  have  not  tasted  brandy?  "  It's  not 
a  day  for  that,"  they  said.'  " 

During  the  momentous  battle  which  followed, 
Pierre  was  struck  by  the  steadfastness  under  fire 
which  has  always  distinguished  the  Russian  soldier. 

"  The  fall  of  each  man  acted  as  an  increasing 
stimulus.  The  faces  of  the  soldiers  brightened 
more  and  more,  as  if  challenging  the  storm  let 
loose  on  them." 

In  contrast  with  this  picture  of  fine  "  morale  " 
is  that  of  the  young  white-faced  officer,  looking 
nervously  about  him  as  he  walks  backwards  with 
lowered  sword. 

In  other  places  Tolstoy  does  full  justice  to  the 
courage  and  patriotism  of  all  grades  in  the  Rus- 
sian army,  but  it  is  constantly  evident  that  his 
sympathies  are  most  heartily  with  the  rank  and 
file.  What  genuine  feeling  and  affection  rings  in 
this  sketch  of  Plato,  a  common  soldier,  in  ''  War 
and  Peace !  " 

"  Plato  Karataev  was  about  fifty,  judging  by 
the  number  of  campaigns  in  which  he  had  served; 
he  could  not  have  told  his  exact  age  himself,  and 
when  he  laughed,  as  he  often  did,  he  showed  two 
rows  of  strong,  white  teeth.     There  was  not  a 


10  INTRODUCTION 

grey  hair  on  his  head  or  in  his  beard,  and  his 
bearing  wore  the  stamp  of  activity,  resolution,  and 
above  all,  stoicism.  His  face,  though  much 
lined,  had  a  touching  expression  of  simplicity, 
youth,  and  Innocence.  When  he  spoke.  In  his  soft 
sing-song  voice,  his  speech  flowed  as  from  a  well- 
spring.  He  never  thought  about  what  he  had 
said  or  was  going  to  say  next,  and  the  vivacity 
and  the  rhythmical  Inflections  of  his  voice  gave  it 
a  penetrating  persuasiveness.  Night  and  morn- 
ing, when  going  to  rest  or  getting  up,  he  said,  *  O 
God,  let  me  sleep  like  a  stone  and  rise  up  like  a 
loaf.'  And,  sure  enough,  he  had  no  sooner  lain 
down  than  he  slept  like  a  lump  of  lead,  and  In  the 
morning  on  waking  he  was  bright  and  lively,  and 
ready  for  any  work.  He  could  do  anything,  just 
not  very  well  nor  very  111;  he  cooked,  sewed, 
planed  wood,  cobbled  his  boots,  and  was  always 
occupied  with  some  job  or  other,  only  allowing 
himself  to  chat  and  sing  at  night.  He  sang,  not 
like  a  singer  who  knows  he  has  listeners,  but  as 
the  birds  sing  to  God,  the  Father  of  all,  feeling  it 
as  necessary  as  walking  or  stretching  himself. 
His  singing  was  tender,  sweet,  plaintive,  almost 
feminine.  In  keeping  with  his  serious  countenance. 
When,  after  some  weeks  of  captivity  his  beard 
had  grown  again,  he  seemed  to  have  got  rid  of 
all  that  was  not  his  true  self,  the  borrowed  face 


INTRODUCTION  ii 

which  his  soldiering  life  had  given  him,  and  to 
have  become,  as  before,  a  peasant  and  a  man  of 
the  people.  In  the  eyes  of  the  other  prisoners 
Plato  was  just  a  common  soldier,  whom  they 
chaffed  at  times  and  sent  on  all  manner  of  er- 
rands; but  to  Pierre  he  remained  ever  after  the 
personification  of  simplicity  and  truth,  such  as  he 
had  divined  him  to  be  since  the  first  night  spent 
by  his  side." 

This  clearly  is  a  study  from  life,  a  leaf  from 
Tolstoy's  "  Crimean  Journal.''  It  harmonises 
with  the  point  of  view  revealed  in  the  "  Letters 
from  Sebastopol "  (especially  in  the  second  and 
third  series),  and  shows,  like  them,  the  change 
effected  by  the  realities  of  war  in  the  intolerant 
young  aristocrat,  who  previously  excluded  all  but 
the  comme-il'faut  from  his  consideration.  With 
widened  outlook  and  new  ideals  he  returned  to  St. 
Petersburg  at  the  close  of  the  Crimean  campaign, 
to  be  welcomed  by  the  elite  of  letters  and  courted 
by  society.  A  few  years  before  he  would  have 
been  delighted  with  such  a  reception.  Now  it 
jarred  on  his  awakened  sense  of  the  tragedy  of 
existence.  He  found  himself  entirely  out  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  group  of  literary  men  who  gath- 
ered round  him,  with  Turgenev  at  their  head. 
In  Tolstoy's  eyes  they  were   false,   paltry,   and 


12  INTRODUCTION 

immoral,  and  he  was  at  no  pains  to  disguise  his 
opinions.  Dissension,  leading  to  violent  scenes, 
soon  broke  out  between  Turgenev  and  Tolstoy; 
and  the  latter,  completely  disillusioned  both  in 
regard  to  his  great  contemporary  and  to  the  lit- 
erary world  of  St.  Petersburg,  shook  off  the  dust 
of  the  capital,  and,  after  resigning  his  commission 
in  the  army,  went  abroad  on  a  tour  through  Ger- 
many, Switzerland,  and  France. 

In  France  his  growing  aversion  from  capital 
punishment  became  intensified  by  his  witnessing  a 
public  execution,  and  the  painful  thoughts  aroused 
by  the  scene  of  the  guillotine  haunted  his  sensitive 
spirit  for  long.  He  left  France  for  Switzerland, 
and  there,  among  beautiful  natural  surroundings, 
and  in  the  society  of  friends,  he  enjoyed  a  respite 
from  mental  strain. 

"  A  fresh,  sweet-scented  flower  seemed  to  have 
blossomed  in  my  spirit;  to  the  weariness  and  in- 
difference to  all  things  which  before  possessed 
me  had  succeeded,  without  apparent  transition, 
a  thirst  for  love,  a  confident  hope,  an  inexplicable 
joy  to  feel  myself  alive." 

Those  halcyon  days  ushered  in  the  dawn  of  an 
intimate  friendship  between  himself  and  a  lady 
who  in  the  correspondence  which  ensued  usually 
styled  herself  his  aunt,  but  was  in  fact  a  second 


INTRODUCTION  13 

cousin.  This  lady,  the  Countess  Alexandra  A. 
Tolstoy,  a  Maid  of  Honour  of  the  Bedchamber, 
moved  exclusively  In  Court  circles.  She  was  In- 
telligent and  sympathetic,  but  strictly  orthodox 
and  mondaine,  so  that,  while  Tolstoy's  view  of 
life  gradually  shifted  from  that  of  an  aristocrat 
to  that  of  a  social  reformer,  her  own  remained 
unaltered;  with  the  result  that  at  the  end  of  some 
forty  years  of  frank  and  affectionate  Interchange 
of  Ideas,  they  awoke  to  the  painful  consciousness 
that  the  last  link  of  mutual  understanding  had 
snapped  and  that  their  friendship  was  at  an  end. 
But  the  letters  remain  as  a  valuable  and  Inter- 
esting record  of  one  of  Tolstoy's  rare  friendships 
with  women,  revealing  In  his  unguarded  confi- 
dences fine  shades  of  his  many-sided  nature,  and 
throwing  light  on  the  Impression  he  made  both  on 
his  Intimates  and  on  those  to  whom  he  was  only 
known  as  a  writer,  while  his  moral  philosophy 
was  yet  In  embryo.  They  are  now  about  to  ap- 
pear In  book  form  under  the  auspices  of  M. 
Stakhovlch,  to  whose  kindness  In  giving  me  free 
access  to  the  originals  I  am  Indebted  for  the  ex- 
tracts which  follow.  From  one  of  the  countess's 
first  letters  we  learn  that  the  feelings  of  affection, 
hope,  and  happiness  which  possessed  Tolstoy  In 
Switzerland  Irresistibly  communicated  themselves 
to  those  about  him. 


14  INTRODUCTION 

"  You  are  good  In  a  very  uncommon  way," 
she  writes,  "  and  that  Is  why  It  Is  difficult  to  feel 
unhappy  In  your  company.  I  have  never  seen 
you  without  wishing  to  be  a  better  creature. 
Your  presence  Is  a  consoling  Idea.  ...  I 
know  all  the  elements  In  you  that  revive  one's 
heart,  possibly  without  your  being  even  aware 
of  It." 

A  few  years  later  she  gives  him  an  amusing 
account  of  the  Impression  his  writings  had  already 
made  on  an  eminent  statesman. 

"  I  owe  you  a  small  episode.  Not  long  ago, 
when  lunching  with  the  Emperor,  I  sat  next  our 
little  Bismarck,  and  In  a  spirit  of  mischief  I  began 
sounding  him  about  you.  But  I  had  hardly  ut- 
tered your  name  when  he  went  off  at  a  gallop 
with  the  greatest  enthusiasm,  firing  off  the  list  of 
your  perfections  left  and  right,  and  so  long  as  he 
declaimed  your  praises  with  gesticulations,  cut 
and  thrust,  powder  and  shot,  it  was  all  very  well 
and  quite  in  character;  but  seeing  that  I  listened 
with  interest  and  attention  my  man  took  the  bit 
in  his  teeth,  and  flung  himself  into  a  psychic  apoth- 
eosis. On  reaching  full  pitch  he  began  to  get 
muddled,  and  floundered  so  helplessly  in  his  own 
phrases!  all  the  while  chewing  an  excellent  cutlet 
to  the  bone,  that  at  last  I  realised  nothing  but  the 
tips  of  his  ears  —  those  two  great  ears  of  his. 


INTRODUCTION  15 

What  a  pity  I  can't  repeat  It  verbatim  I  but  how? 
There  was  nothing  left  but  a  jumble  of  confused 
sounds  and  broken  words." 

Tolstoy  on  his  side  Is  equally  expansive,  and  In 
the  early  stages  of  the  correspondence  falls  occa- 
sionally Into  the  vein  of  self-analysis  which  In  later 
days  became  habitual. 

"  As  a  child  I  believed  with  passion  and  with- 
out any  thought.  Then  at  the  age  of  fourteen  I 
began  to  think  about  life  and  preoccupied  myself 
with  religion,  but  It  did  not  adjust  Itself  to  my 
theories  and  so  I  broke  with  It.  Without  It  I 
was  able  to  live  quite  contentedly  for  ten  years 
.  .  .  everything  In  my  life  was  evenly  dis- 
tributed, and  there  was  no  room  for  religion. 
Then  came  a  time  when  everything  grew  Intelli- 
gible; there  were  no  more  secrets  in  life,  but  life 
Itself  had  lost  Its  significance." 

He  goes  on  to  tell  of  the  two  years  that  he  spent 
In  the  Caucasus  before  the  Crimean  War,  when 
his  mind,  jaded  by  youthful  excesses,  gradually 
regained  its  freshness,  and  he  awoke  to  a  sense 
of  communion  with  Nature  which  he  retained  to 
his  life's  end. 

"  I  have  my  notes  of  that  time,  and  now  read- 


i6  INTRODUCTION 

ing  them  over  I  am  not  able  to  understand  how  a 
man  could  attain  to  the  state  of  mental  exaltation 
which  I  arrived  at.  It  was  a  torturing  but  a 
happy  time/' 

Further  on  he  writes, — 

"  In  those  two  years  of  intellectual  work,  I  dis- 
covered a  truth  which  is  ancient  and  simple,  but 
which  yet  I  know  better  than  others  do.  I  found 
out  that  Immortal  life  is  a  reality,  that  love  is  a 
reality,  and  that  one  must  live  for  others  if  one 
would  be  unceasingly  happy." 

At  this  point  one  realises  the  gulf  which  divides 
the  Slavonic  from  the  English  temperament.  No 
average  Englishman  of  seven-and-twenty  (as  Tol- 
stoy was  then)  would  pursue  reflections  of  this 
kind,  or  if  he  did,  he  would  in  all  probability  keep 
them  sedulously  to  himself. 

To  Tolstoy  and  his  aunt,  on  the  contrary,  it 
seemed  the  most  natural  thing  In  the  world  to 
indulge  in  egoistic  abstractions  and  to  expatiate 
on  them;  for  a  Russian  feels  none  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon's  mauvaise  honte  in  describing  his  spiritual 
condition,  and  is  no  more  daunted  by  metaphysics 
than  the  latter  is  by  arguments  on  politics  and 
sport. 


INTRODUCTION  17 

To  attune  the  Anglo-Saxon  reader's  mind  to 
sympathy  with  a  mentality  so  alien  to  his  own, 
requires  that  Tolstoy's  environment  should  be  de- 
scribed more  fully  than  most  of  his  biographers 
have  cared  to  do.  This  prefatory  note  alms, 
therefore,  at  being  less  strictly  biographical  than 
illustrative  of  the  contributory  elements  and  cir- 
cumstances which  sub-consciously  influenced  Tol- 
stoy's spiritual  evolution,  since  it  is  apparent  that 
in  order  to  judge  a  man's  actions  justly  one  must 
be  able  to  appreciate  the  motives  from  which  they 
spring;  those  motives  in  turn  requiring  the  key 
which  lies  in  his  temperament,  his  associations,  his 
nationality.  Such  a  key  Is  peculiarly  necessary  to 
English  or  American  students  of  Tolstoy,  because 
of  the  marked  contrast  existing  between  the  Rus- 
sian and  the  Englishman  or  American  in  these 
respects,  a  contrast  by  which  Tolstoy  himself  was 
forcibly  struck  during  the  visit  to  Switzerland,  of 
which  mention  has  been  already  made.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  restrain  a  smile  at  the  poignant  mental  dis- 
comfort endured  by  the  sensitive  Slav  in  the 
company  of  the  frigid  and  silent  English  frequent- 
ers of  the  Schweitzerhof  ("Journal  of  Prince  D. 
Nekhludov."  Lucerne,  1857),  whose  reserve, 
he  realised,  was  "  not  based  on  pride,  but  on  the 
absence  of  any  desire  to  draw  nearer  to  each 
other";  while  he  looked  back  regretfully  to  the 


1 8  INTRODUCTION 

pension  in  Paris  where  the  table  d^  hote  was  a  scene 
of  spontaneous  gaiety.  The  problem  of  British 
taciturnity  passed  his  comprehension;  but  for  us 
the  enigma  of  Tolstoy's  temperament  is  half 
solved  if  we  see  him  not  harshly  silhouetted 
against  a  blank  wall,  but  suffused  with  his  native 
atmosphere,  amid  his  native  surroundings.  Not 
till  we  understand  the  main  outlines  of  the  Rus- 
sian temperament  can  we  realise  the  individuality 
of  Tolstoy  himself:  the  personality  that  made  him 
lovable,  the  universality  that  made  him  great. 

So  vast  an  agglomeration  of  races  as  that  which 
constitutes  the  Russian  empire  cannot  obviously 
be  represented  by  a  single  type,  but  It  will  suffice 
for  our  purposes  to  note  the  characteristics  of  the 
Inhabitants  of  Great  Russia  among  whom  Tolstoy 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  lifetime  and  to  whom 
he  belonged  by  birth  and  natural  affinities. 

It  may  be  said  of  the  average  Russian  that  In 
exchange  for  a  precocious  childhood  he  retains 
much  of  a  child's  lightness  of  heart  throughout 
his  later  years,  alternating  with  attacks  of  morbid 
despondency.  He  Is  usually  very  susceptible  to 
feminine  charm,  an  ardent  but  unstable  lover, 
whose  passions  are  apt  to  be  as  shortlived  as  they 
are  violent.  Story-telling  and  long-winded  dis- 
cussions give  him  keen  enjoyment,  for  he  is  gar- 
rulous,    metaphysical,     and     argumentative.     In 


INTRODUCTION  19 

money  matters  careless  and  extravagant,  dilatory 
and  venal  in  affairs;  fond,  especially  in  the  peas- 
ant class,  of  singing,  dancing,  and  carousing;  but 
his  irresponsible  gaiety  and  heedlessness  of  conse- 
quences balanced  by  a  fatalistic  courage  and  en- 
durance in  the  face  of  suffering  and  danger. 
Capable,  besides,  of  high  flights  of  idealism, 
which  result  in  epics,  but  rarely  in  actions,  owing 
to  the  Slavonic  inaptitude  for  sustained  and  or- 
ganised effort.  The  Englishman  by  contrast  ap- 
pears cold  and  calculating,  incapable  of  rising 
above  questions  of  practical  utility;  neither  Inter- 
ested in  other  men's  antecedents  and  experiences 
nor  willing  to  retail  his  own.  The  catechism 
which  Plato  puts  Pierre  through  on  their  first  en- 
counter ("War  and  Peace")  as  to  his  family, 
possessions,  and  what  not,  are  precisely  similar 
to  those  to  which  I  have  been  subjected  over  and 
over  again  by  chance  acquaintances  in  country- 
houses  or  by  fellow  travellers  on  journeys  by  boat 
or  train.  The  naivete  and  kindliness  of  the  ques- 
tioner makes  it  impossible  to  resent,  though  one 
may  feebly  try  to  parry  his  probing.  On  the 
other  hand  he  offers  you  free  access  to  the  inmost 
recesses  of  his  own  soul,  and  stupefies  you  with 
the  candour  of  his  revelations.  This,  of  course, 
relates  more  to  the  landed  and  professional  classes 
than  to  the  peasant,  who  is  slower  to  express  him- 


20  INTRODUCTION 

self,  and  combines  in  a  curious  way  a  firm  belief 
in  the  omnipotence  and  wisdom  of  his  social  su- 
periors with  a  rooted  distrust  of  their  intentions 
regarding  himself.  He  is  like  a  beast  of  burden 
who  flinches  from  every  approach,  expecting  al- 
ways a  kick  or  a  blow.  On  the  other  hand,  his 
affection  for  the  animals  who  share  his  daily  work 
is  one  of  the  most  attractive  points  in  his  char- 
acter, and  one  which  Tolstoy  never  wearied  of 
emphasising  —  describing,  with  the  simple  pathos 
of  which  he  was  master,  the  moujik  inured  to  his 
own  privations  but  pitiful  to  his  horse,  shielding 
him  from  the  storm  with  his  own  coat,  or  saving 
him  from  starvation  with  his  own  meagre  ration; 
and  mindful  of  him  even  in  his  prayers,  invoking, 
like  Plato,  the  blessings  of  Florus  and  Laura,  pa- 
tron saints  of  horses,  because  "  one  mustn't  forget 
the  animals." 

The  characteristics  of  a  people  so  embedded  In 
the  soil  bear  a  closer  relation  to  their  native  land- 
scape than  our  own  migratory  populations,  and 
patriotism  with  them  has  a  deep  and  vital  mean- 
ing, which  Is  expressed  unconsciously  In  their 
lives. 

This  spirit  of  patriotism  which  Tolstoy  repudi- 
ated is  none  the  less  the  animating  power  of  the 
noble  epic,  "  War  and  Peace,"  and  of  his  peasant- 
tales,  of  his  rare  gift  of  reproducing  the  expressive 


INTRODUCTION  21 

Slav  vernacular,  and  of  his  magical  art  of  Infusing 
his  pictures  of  Russian  scenery  not  merely  with 
beauty,  but  with  spiritual  significance.  I  can 
think  of  no  prose  writer,  unless  it  be  Thoreau,  so 
wholly  under  the  spell  of  Nature  as  Tolstoy;  and 
while  Thoreau  was  preoccupied  with  the  normal 
phenomena  of  plant  and  animal  life,  Tolstoy, 
coming  near  to  Pantheism,  found  responses  to  his 
moods  in  trees,  and  gained  spiritual  expansion 
from  the  Illimitable  skies  and  plains.  He  fre- 
quently brings  his  heroes  Into  touch  with  Nature, 
and  endows  them  with  all  the  innate  mysticism  of 
his  own  temperament,  for  to  him  Nature  was  "  a 
guide  to  God."  So  In  the  two-fold  Incident  of 
Prince  Andre  and  the  oak  tree  (''War  and 
Peace ")  the  Prince,  though  a  man  of  action 
rather  than  of  sentiment  and  habitually  cynical, 
is  ready  to  find  In  the  aged  oak  by  the  roadside, 
in  early  spring,  an  animate  embodiment  of  his 
own  despondency. 

"  '  Springtime,  love,  happiness  ?  —  are  you  still 
cherishing  those  deceptive  illusions?'  the  old  oak 
seemed  to  say.  'Isn't  it  the  same  fiction  ever? 
There  is  neither  spring,  nor  love,  nor  happiness! 
Look  at  those  poor  weather-beaten  firs,  always  the 
same  .  .  .  look  at  the  knotty  arms  Issuing 
from  all  up  my  poor  mutilated  trunk  —  here  I 


22  INTRODUCTION 

am,  such  as  they  have  made  me,  and  I  do  not  be- 
lieve either  in  your  hopes  or  in  your  illusions.'  " 

And  after  thus  exercising  his  imagination.  Prince 
Andre  still  casts  backward  glances  as  he  passes  by, 

"  but  the  oak  maintained  its  obstinate  and  sullen 
immovability  in  the  midst  of  the  flowers  and  grass 
growing  at  its  feet.  *  Yes,  that  oak  is  right,  right 
a  thousand  times  over.  One  must  leave  illusions 
to  youth.  But  the  rest  of  us  know  what  life  is 
worth ;  it  has  nothing  left  to  offer  us.*  " 

Six  weeks  later  he  returns  homeward  the  same 
way,  roused  from  his  melancholy  torpor  by  his 
recent  meeting  with  Natasha. 

*'  The  day  was  hot,  there  was  storm  in  the  air; 
a  slight  shower  watered  the  dust  on  the  road  and 
the  grass  in  the  ditch;  the  left  side  of  the  wood 
remained  in  the  shade;  the  right  side,  lightly 
stirred  by  the  wind,  glittered  all  wet  in  the  sun; 
everything  was  in  flower,  and  from  near  and  far 
the  nightingales  poured  forth  their  song.  '  I 
fancy  there  was  an  oak  here  that  understood  me,' 
said  Prince  Andre  to  himself,  looking  to  the  left 
and  attracted  unawares  by  the  beauty  of  the  very 
tree  he  sought.     The  transformed  old  oak  spread 


INTRODUCTION  23 

out  In  a  dome  of  deep,  luxuriant,  blooming  ver- 
dure, which  swayed  In  a  light  breeze  In  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun.  There  were  no  longer  cloven 
branches  nor  rents  to  be  seen;  Its  former  aspect 
of  bitter  defiance  and  sullen  grief  had  disap- 
peared; there  were  only  the  young  leaves,  full  of 
sap  that  had  pierced  through  the  centenarian 
bark,  making  the  beholder  question  with  surprise 
if  this  patriarch  had  really  given  birth  to  them. 

*  Yes,  It  Is  he,  Indeed ! '  cried  Prince  Andre,  and 
he  felt  his  heart  suffused  by  the  Intense  joy  which 
the  springtime  and  this  new  life  gave  him     .     .     . 

*  No,  my  life  cannot  end  at  thirty-one !  .  .  . 
It  Is  not  enough  myself  to  feel  what  Is  within  me, 
others  must  know  It  too  I  Pierre  and  that  "  slip  " 
of  a  girl,  who  would  have  fled  into  cloudland, 
must  learn  to  know  me  I  My  life  must  colour 
theirs,  and  their  lives  must  mingle  with  mine ! '  " 

In  letters  to  his  wife,  to  Intimate  friends,  and 
In  his  diary,  Tolstoy's  love  of  Nature  Is  often- 
times expressed.  The  hair  shirt  of  the  ascetic 
and  the  prophet's  mantle  fall  from  his  shoulders, 
and  all  the  poet  In  him  wakes  when,  "  with  a  feel- 
ing akin  to  ecstasy,"  he  looks  up  from  his 
smooth-running  sledge  at  "  the  enchanting,  starry 
winter  sky  overhead,"  or  in  early  spring  feels  on 
a  ramble  "  Intoxicated  by  the  beauty  of  the  morn- 


24  INTRODUCTION 

ing,"  while  he  notes  that  the  buds  are  swelling  on 
the  lilacs,  and  *'  the  birds  no  longer  sing  at  ran- 
dom," but  have  begun  to  converse. 

But  though  such  allusions  abound  in  his  diary 
and  private  correspondence,  we  must  turn  to 
"  The  Cossacks,"  and  "  Conjugal  Happiness  "  for 
the  exquisitely  elaborated  rural  studies,  which  give 
those  early  romances  their  fresh  Idyllic  charm. 

What  Is  Interesting  to  note  Is  that  this  artistic 
freshness  and  joy  In  Nature  coexisted  with  acute 
Intermittent  attacks  of  spiritual  lassitude.  In 
"  The  Cossacks,"  the  doubts,  the  mental  groplngs 
of  Olenlne  —  whose  personality  but  thinly  veils 
that  of  Tolstoy  —  haunt  him  betimes  even  among 
the  delights  of  the  Caucasian  woodland;  Serge, 
the  fatalistic  hero  of  "  Conjugal  Happiness," 
calmly  acquiesces  In  the  Inevltableness  of  "  love's 
sad  satiety  "  amid  the  scent  of  roses  and  the  songs 
of  nightingales. 

Doubt  and  despondency,  increased  by  the  vexa- 
tions and  failures  attending  his  philanthropic  en- 
deavours, at  length  obsessed  Tolstoy  to  the  verge 
of  suicide. 

"  The  disputes  over  arbitration  had  become  so 
painful  to  me,  the  schoolwork  so  vague,  my  doubts 
arising  from  the  wish  to  teach  others,  while  dis- 
sembling my  own  ignorance  of  what  should  be 


INTRODUCTION  25 

taught,  were  so  heartrending  that  I  fell  ill.  I 
might  then  have  reached  the  despair  to  which  I 
all  but  succumbed  fifteen  years  later,  if  there  had 
not  been  a  side  of  life  as  yet  unknown  to  me  which 
promised  me  salvation :  this  was  family  life " 
("My  Confession"). 

In  a  word,  his  marriage  with  Mademoiselle 
Sophie  Andreevna  Bers  (daughter  of  Dr.  Bers 
of  Moscow)  was  consummated  in  the  autumn  of 
1862  —  after  a  somewhat  protracted  courtship, 
owing  to  her  extreme  youth  —  and  Tolstoy  entered 
upon  a  period  of  happiness  and  mental  peace 
such  as  he  had  never  known.  His  letters  of  this 
period  to  Countess  A.  A.  Tolstoy,  his  friend  Fet, 
and  others,  ring  with  enraptured  allusions  to  his 
new-found  joy.  Lassitude  and  indecision,  mysti- 
cism and  altruism,  all  were  swept  aside  by  the  im- 
petus of  triumphant  love  and  of  all-sufficing 
conjugal  happiness.  When  in  June  of  the  follow- 
ing year  a  child  was  born,  and  the  young  wife, 
her  features  suffused  with  "  a  supernatural 
beauty  "  lay  trying  to  smile  at  the  husband  who 
knelt  sobbing  beside  her,  Tolstoy  must  have  real- 
ised that  for  once  his  prophetic  intuition  had  been 
unequal  to  Its  task.  If  his  Imagination  could 
have  conceived  in  prenuptial  days  what  depths  of 
emotion   might  be   wakened  by   fatherhood,   he 


26  INTRODUCTION 

would  not  have  treated  the  birth  of  Masha's  first 
child  in  "  Conjugal  Happiness  "  as  a  trivial  ma- 
terial event,  in  no  way  affecting  the  mutual  rela- 
tions of  the  disillusioned  pair.  He  would  have 
understood  that  at  this  supreme  crisis,  rather  than 
in  the  vernal  hour  of  love's  avowal,  the  heart  Is 
illumined  with  a  joy  which  is  fated  *'  never  to  re- 
turn." 

The  parting  of  the  ways,  so  soon  reached  by 
Serge  and  Masha,  was  in  fact  delayed  in  Tolstoy's 
own  life  by  his  wife's  intelligent  assistance  In  his 
literary  work  as  an  untiring  amanuensis,  and  In 
the  mutual  anxieties  and  pleasures  attending  the 
care  of  a  large  family  of  young  children.  Wider 
horizons  opened  to  his  mental  vision,  his  whole 
being  was  quickened  and  Invigorated.  "  War 
and  Peace,"  "  Anna  Karenlna,"  all  the  splendid 
fruit  of  the  teeming  years  following  upon  his  mar- 
riage, bear  witness  to  the  stimulus  which  his  genius 
had  received.  His  dawning  recognition  of  the 
power  and  extent  of  female  Influence  appears  in- 
cidentally In  the  sketches  of  high  society  In  those 
two  masterpieces  as  well  as  In  the  eloquent  closing 
passages  of  "What  then  must  we  do?"  (1886). 
Having  affirmed  that  "  It  Is  women  who  form  pub- 
lic opinion,  and  In  our  day  women  are  particu- 
larly powerful,"  he  finally  draws  a  picture  of  the 
ideal  wife  who  shall  urge  her  husband  and  train 


INTRODUCTION  27 

her  children  to  self-sacrifice.  "  Such  women  rule 
men  and  are  their  guiding  stars.  O  women  — 
mothers  1  The  salvation  of  the  world  lies  in  your 
hands !  "  In  that  appeal  to  the  mothers  of  the 
world  there  lurks  a  protest  which  In  later  writings 
developed  Into  overwhelming  condemnation. 
True,  he  chose  motherhood  for  the  type  of  self- 
sacrificing  love  in  the  treatise  "  On^Life,"  which 
appeared  soon  after  "What  then  must  we  do?" 
but  maternal  love,  as  exemplified  In  his  own  home 
and  elsewhere,  appeared  to  him  as  a  noble  In- 
stinct perversely  directed. 

The  roots  of  maternal  love  are  sunk  deep  In 
conservatism.  The  child's  physical  well-being  Is 
the  first  essential  In  the  mother's  eyes  —  the 
growth  of  a  vigorous  body  by  which  a  vigorous 
mind  may  be  fitly  tenanted  —  and  this  form  of 
materialism  which  Tolstoy  as  a  father  accepted, 
Tolstoy  as  Idealist  condemned;  while  the  penury 
he  courted  as  a  lightening  of  his  soul's  burden  was 
averted  by  the  strenuous  exertions  of  his  wife. 
So  a  rift  grew  without  blame  attaching  to  either, 
and  Tolstoy  henceforward  wandered  solitary  In 
spirit  through  a  wilderness  of  thought,  seeking 
rest  and  finding  none,  coming  perilously  near  to 
suicide  before  he  reached  haven. 

To  many  It  will  seem  that  the  finest  outcome 
of  that  period  of  mental  groping,  Internal  strug- 


28  INTRODUCTION 

gle,  and  contending  with  current  ideas,  lies  in  the 
above-mentioned  "What  then  must  we  do?" 
Certain  It  is  that  no  human  document  ever  re- 
vealed the  soul  of  Its  author  with  greater  sincer- 
ity. Not  for  its  practical  suggestions,  but  for  its 
impassioned  humanity,  its  infectious  altruism, 
"  What  then  must  we  do?  "  takes  Its  rank  among 
the  world's  few  living  books.  It  marks  that  stage 
of  Tolstoy's  evolution  when  he  made  successive 
essays  in  practical  philanthropy  which  filled  him 
with  discouragement,  yet  were  "  of  use  to  his 
soul  "  in  teaching  him  how  far  below  the  surface 
lie  the  seeds  of  human  misery.  The  slums  of 
Moscow,  crowded  with  beings  sunk  beyond  re- 
demption; the  famine-stricken  plains  of  Samara 
where  disease  and  starvation  reigned,  notwith- 
standing the  stream  of  charity  set  flowing  by  Tol- 
stoy's appeals  and  notwithstanding  his  untiring 
personal  devotion,  strengthened  further  the  con- 
viction, so  constantly  affirmed  in  his  writings,  of 
the  impotence  of  money  to  alleviate  distress. 
Whatever  negations  of  this  dictum  our  own  sys- 
tems of  charitable  organizations  may  appear  to 
offer,  there  can  be  no  question  but  that  in  Russia 
it  held  and  holds  true. 

The  social  condition  of  Russia  is  like  a  tideless 
sea,  whose  sullen  quiescence  Is  broken  from  time 
to  time  by  terrific  storms  which  spend  themselves 


INTRODUCTION  29 

in  unavailing  fury.  Reaction  follows  upon  every 
forward  motion,  and  the  advance  made  by  each 
succeeding  generation  Is  barely  perceptible. 

But  in  the  period  of  peace  following  upon  the 
close  of  the  Crimean  War  the  soul  of  the  Russian 
people  was  deeply  stirred  by  the  spirit  of  Prog- 
ress, and  hope  rose  high  on  the  accession  of  Alex- 
ander II. 

The  emancipation  of  the  serfs  was  only  one 
among  a  number  of  projected  reforms  which  en- 
gaged men's  minds.  The  national  conscience 
awoke  and  echoed  the  cry  of  the  exiled  patriot 
Herzen,  "  Now  or  never !  "  Educational  enter- 
prise was  aroused,  and  some  forty  schools  for 
peasant  children  were  started  on  the  model  of 
that  opened  by  Tolstoy  at  Yasnaya  Polyana 
(1861).  The  literary  world  throbbed  with  new 
life,  and  a  brilliant  company  of  young  writers 
came  to  the  surface,  counting  among  them  names 
of  European  celebrity,  such  as  Dostoevsky,  Ne- 
krassov,  and  Saltykov.  Unhappily  the  reign  of 
Progress  was  short.  The  bureaucratic  circle  hem- 
ming in  the  Czar  took  alarm,  and  made  haste  to 
secure  their  ascendency  by  fresh  measures  of  op- 
pression. Many  schools  were  closed,  including 
that  of  Tolstoy,  and  the  nascent  liberty  of 
the  Press  was  stifled  by  the  most  rigid  censor- 
ship. 


30  INTRODUCTION 

In  this  lamentable  manner  the  history  of  Rus- 
sia's Internal  misrule  and  disorder  has  continued 
to  repeat  itself  for  the  last  sixty  years,  revolving 
in  the  same  vicious  circle  of  fierce  repression  and 
persecution  and  utter  disregard  of  the  rights  of 
individuals,  followed  by  fierce  reprisals  on  the 
part  of  the  persecuted;  the  voice  of  protest  no 
sooner  raised  than  silenced  In  a  prison  cell  or 
among  Siberian  snow-fields,  yet  rising  again  and 
again  with  inextinguishable  reiteration;  appeals 
for  political  freedom,  for  constitutional  govern- 
ment, for  better  systems  and  wider  dissemination 
of  education,  for  liberty  of  the  Press,  and  for  an 
enlightened  treatment  of  the  masses,  callously  re- 
ceived and  rejected.  The  answer  with  which 
these  appeals  have  been  met  by  the  rulers  of  Rus- 
sia Is  only  too  well  known  to  the  civilised  world, 
but  the  obduracy  of  Pharoah  has  called  forth  the 
plagues  of  Egypt.  Despite  the  unrivalled 
agrarian  fertility  of  Russia,  famines  recur  with 
dire  frequency,  with  disease  and  riot  in  their  train, 
while  the  ignominious  termination  of  the  Russo- 
Japanese  war  showed  that  even  the  magnificent 
morale  of  the  Russian  soldier  had  been  under- 
mined and  was  tainted  by  the  rottenness  of  the 
authorities  set  over  him.  What  in  such  circum- 
stances as  these  can  a  handful  of  philanthropists 
achieve,  and  what  avails  alms-giving  or  the  scat- 


INTRODUCTION  31 

tering  of  largesse  to  a  people  on  the  point  of  spir- 
itual dissolution? 

In  these  conditions  Tolstoy's  abhorrence  of 
money,  and  his  assertion  of  its  futility  as  a  pana- 
cea for  human  suffering,  appears  not  merely  com- 
prehensible but  Inevitable,  and  his  renunciation 
of  personal  property  the  strictly  logical  outcome 
of  his  conclusions.  The  partition  of  his  estates 
between  his  wife  and  children,  shortly  before  the 
outbreak  of  the  great  famine  In  1892,  served  to 
relieve  his  mind  partially;  and  the  writings  of 
Henry  George,  with  which  he  became  acquainted 
at  this  critical  time,  were  an  additional  Incentive 
to  concentrate  his  thoughts  on  the  land  question. 
He  began  by  reading  the  American  propagandist's 
"  Social  Problems,"  which  arrested  his  attention 
by  Its  main  principles  and  by  the  clearness  and 
novelty  of  his  arguments.  Deeply  Impressed  by 
the  study  of  this  book,  no  sooner  had  he  finished 
it  than  he  possessed  himself  of  Its  forerunner, 
"  Progress  and  Poverty,"  In  which  the  essence  of 
George's  revolutionary  doctrines  Is  worked  out. 

The  plan  of  land  nationalisation  there  explained 
provided  Tolstoy  with  well  thought-out  and  log- 
ical reasons  for  a  policy  that  was  already  more 
than  sympathetic  to  him.  Here  at  last  was  a 
means  of  ensuring  economic  equality  for  all,  from 
the  largest  landowner  to  the  humblest  peasant  — 


32  INTRODUCTION 

a  practical  suggestion  how  to  reduce  the  inequali- 
ties between  rich  and  poor. 

Henry  George's  Ideas  and  methods  are  easy  of 
comprehension.  The  land  was  made  by  God  for 
every  human  creature  that  was  born  Into  the 
world,  and  therefore  to  confine  the  ownership  of 
land  to  the  few  is  wrong.  If  a  man  wants  a  piece 
of  land,  he  ought  to  pay  the  rest  of  the  community 
for  the  enjoyment  of  It.  This  payment  or  rent 
should  be  the  only  tax  paid  into  the  Treasury  of 
the  State.  Taxation  on  men's  own  property  (the 
produce  of  their  own  labour)  should  be  done  away 
with,  and  a  rent  graduated  according  to  the  site- 
value  of  the  land  should  be  substituted.  Monop- 
olies would  cease  without  violently  and  unjustly 
disturbing  society  with  confiscation  and  redistribu- 
tion. No  one  would  keep  land  Idle  If  he  were 
taxed  according  to  its  value  to  the  community, 
and  not  according  to  the  use  to  which  he  individ- 
ually wished  to  put  it.  A  man  would  then  read- 
ily obtain  possession  of  land,  and  could  turn  It  to 
account  and  develop  it  without  being  taxed  on  his 
own  industry.  All  human  beings  would  thus  be- 
come free  in  their  lives  and  in  their  labour. 
They  would  no  longer  be  forced  to  toil  at  demor- 
alising work  for  low  wages;  they  would  be  inde- 
pendent producers  Instead  of  earning  a  living  by 
providing  luxuries  for  the  rich,  who  had  enslaved 


INTRODUCTION  33 

them  by  monopolising  the  land.  The  single  tax 
thus  created  would  ultimately  overthrow  the  pres- 
ent "  civilisation "  which  is  chiefly  built  up  on 
wage-slavery. 

Tolstoy  gave  his  whole-hearted  adhesion  to 
this  doctrine,  predicting  a  day  of  enlightenment 
when  men  would  no  longer  tolerate  a  form  of 
slavery  which  he  considered  as  revolting  as  that 
which  had  so  recently  been  abolished.  Some  long 
conversations  with  Henry  George,  while  he  was 
on  a  visit  to  Yasnaya  Polyana,  gave  additional 
strength  to  Tolstoy's  conviction  that  in  these 
theories  lay  the  elements  essential  to  the  trans- 
formation and  rejuvenation  of  human  nature,  go- 
ing far  towards  the  levelling  of  social  inequalities. 
But  to  inoculate  the  landed  proprietors  of  Russia 
as  a  class  with  those  theories  was  a  task  which 
even  his  genius  could  not  hope  to  accomplish. 

He  recognised  the  necessity  of  proceeding  from 
the  particular  to  the  general,  and  that  the  perfect- 
ing of  human  Institutions  was  Impossible  without 
a  corresponding  perfection  In  the  individual.  To 
this  end  therefore  the  remainder  of  his  life  was 
dedicated.  He  had  always  held  in  aversion  what 
he  termed  external  epidemic  Influences:  he  now 
endeavoured  to  free  himself  not  only  from  all 
current  conventions,  but  from  every  association 
which  he  had  formerly  cherished.     Self-analysis 


34  INTRODUCTION 

and  general  observation  had  taught  him  that  men 
are  sensual  beings,  and  that  sensualism  must  die 
for  want  of  food  If  It  were  not  for  sex  Instincts, 
If  It  were  not  for  Art,  and  especially  for  Music. 
This  view  of  life  he  forcibly  expressed  In  the 
"  Kreutzer  Sonata,"  In  which  Woman  and  Music, 
the  two  magnets  of  his  youth,  were  Impeached  as 
powers  of  evil.  Already,  In  "  War  and  Peace  '* 
and  in  "  Anna  Karenina,'*  his  descriptions  of  fe- 
male charms  resembled  catalogues  of  weapons 
against  which  a  man  must  arm  himself  or  perish. 
The  beautiful  Princess  Helena,  with  her  gleam- 
ing shoulders,  her  faultless  white  bosom,  and  her 
eternal  smile  is  evidently  an  object  of  aversion  to 
her  creator;  even  as  the  Countess  Betsy,  with  her 
petty  coquetries  and  devices  for  attracting  atten- 
tion at  the  Opera  and  elsewhere.  Is  a  target  for 
his  contempt.  "  Woman  is  a  stumbling-block  in 
a  man's  career,"  remarks  a  philosophical  husband 
in  "  Anna  Karenina."  **  It  is  difficult  to  love  a 
woman  and  do  any  good  work,  and  the  only  way 
to  escape  being  reduced  to  inaction  is  to  marry." 
Even  in  his  correspondence  with  the  Countess 
A.  A.  Tolstoy  this  slighting  tone  prevails.  "  A 
woman  has  but  one  moral  weapon  Instead  of  the 
whole  male  arsenal.  That  Is  love,  and  only  with 
this  weapon  is  feminine  education  successfully  car- 
ried forward."     Tolstoy,  in  fact,  betrayed  a  touch 


INTRODUCTION  35 

of  orientalism  in  his  attitude  towards  women. 
In  part  no  doubt  as  a  result  of  his  motherless 
youth,  in  part  to  the  fact  that  his  idealism  was 
never  stimulated  by  any  one  woman  as  it  was  by 
individual  men,  his  views  retained  this  colouring 
on  sex  questions  while  they  became  widened  and 
modified  in  almost  every  other  field  of  human 
philosophy.  It  was  only  that,  with  a  revulsion 
of  feeling  not  seldom  experienced  by  earnest 
thinkers,  attraction  was  succeeded  by  a  repulsion 
which  reached  the  high  note  of  exasperation 
when  he  wrote  to  a  man  friend,  "  A  woman  in 
good  health  —  why,  she  is  a  regular  beast  of 
prey!" 

None  the  less,  he  showed  great  kindness  and 
sympathy  to  the  women  who  sought  his  society, 
appealing  to  him  for  guidance.  One  of  these  (an 
American,  and  herself  a  practical  philanthropist/. 
Miss  Jane  Addams,  expressed  with  feeling  her 
sense  of  his  personal  influence.  "  The  glimpse 
of  Tolstoy  has  made  a  profound  impression  on 
me,  not  so  much  by  what  he  said,  as  the  life,  the 
gentleness,  the  soul  of  him.  I  am  sure  you  will 
understand  my  saying  that  I  got  more  of  Tolstoy's 
philosophy  from  our  conversations  than  I  had 
gotten  from  our  books.'*  (Quoted  by  Aylmer 
Maude  in  his  "  Life  of  Tolstoy.") 

As  frequently  happens  in  the  lives  of  reformers. 


36  INTRODUCTION 

Tolstoy  found  himself  more  often  in  affinity  with 
strangers  than  with  his  own  kin.  The  estrange- 
ment of  his  Ideals  from  those  of  his  wife  neces- 
sarily affected  their  conjugal  relations,  and  the 
decline  of  mutual  sympathy  Inevitably  induced 
physical  alienation.  The  stress  of  mental  anguish 
arising  from  these  conditions  found  vent  In  pages 
of  his  diaries  (much  of  which  I  have  been  per- 
mitted to  read),  pages  containing  matter  too  sa- 
cred and  intimate  to  use.  The  diaries  shed  a 
flood  of  light  on  Tolstoy's  Ideas,  motives,  and 
manner  of  life,  and  have  modified  some  of  my 
opinions,  explaining  many  hitherto  obscure  points, 
while  they  have  also  enhanced  my  admiration  for 
the  man.  They  not  only  touch  on  many  delicate 
subjects  —  on  his  relations  to  his  wife  and  family 
—  but  they  also  give  the  true  reasons  for  leaving 
his  home  at  last,  and  explain  why  he  did  not  do 
so  before.  The  time,  it  seems  to  me,  is  not  ripe 
for  disclosures  of  this  nature,  which  so  closely 
concern  the  living. 

Despite  a  strong  rein  of  restraint  his  mental 
distress  permeates  the  touching  letter  of  fare- 
well which  he  wrote  some  sixteen  years  before  his 
death.  He,  however,  shrank  from  acting  upon 
It,  being  unable  to  satisfy  himself  that  it  was  a 
right  step.  This  letter  has  already  appeared  in 
foreign  publications,*  but  it  is  quoted  here  because 

♦And  in  Birukov's  short  Life  of  Tolstoy,  1911. 


INTRODUCTION  37 

of  the  light  which  It  throws  on  the  character  and 
disposition  of  the  writer,  the  workings  of  his  mind 
being  of  greater  moment  to  us  than  those  Impul- 
sive actions  by  which  he  was  too  often  judged. 

"  I  have  suffered  long,  dear  Sophie,  from  the 
discord  between  my  life  and  my  beliefs. 

"  I  cannot  constrain  you  to  alter  your  life  or 
your  accustomed  ways.  Neither  have  I  had  the 
strength  to  leave  you  ere  this,  for  I  thought  my 
absence  might  deprive  the  little  ones,  still  so 
young,  of  whatever  Influence  I  may  have  over 
them,  and  above  all  that  I  should  grieve  you. 
But  I  can  no  longer  live  as  I  have  lived  these  last 
sixteen  years,  sometimes  battling  with  you  and  Ir- 
ritating you,  sometimes  myself  giving  way  to  the 
Influences  and  seductions  to  which  I  am  accus- 
tomed and  which  surround  me.  I  have  now  re- 
solved to  do  what  I  have  long  desired :  to  go  away 
.  .  .  Even  as  the  Hindoos,  at  the  age  of  sixty, 
betake  themselves  to  the  jungle;  even  as  every 
aged  and  religious-minded  man  desires  to  conse- 
crate the  last  years  of  his  life  to  God  and  not  to 
Idle  talk,  to  making  jokes,  to  gossiping,  to  lawn- 
tennis;  so  I,  having  reached  the  age  of  seventy, 
long  with  all  my  soul  for  calm  and  solitude,  and  if 
not  perfect  harmony,  at  least  a  cessation  from  this 
horrible  discord  between  my  whole  life  and  my 
conscience. 


38  INTRODUCTION 

"  If  I  had  gone  away  openly  there  would  have 
been  entreaties,  discussions:  I  should  have  wa- 
vered, and  perhaps  failed  to  act  on  my  decision, 
whereas  it  must  be  so.  I  pray  of  you  to  forgive 
me  if  my  action  grieves  you.  And  do  you,  Sophie, 
in  particular  let  me  go,  neither  seeking  me  out, 
nor  bearing  me  ill-will,  nor  blaming  me  .  .  . 
the  fact  that  I  have  left  you  does  not  mean  that  I 
have  cause  of  complaint  against  you  ...  I 
know  you  were  not  able,  you  were  incapable  of 
thinking  and  seeing  as  I  do,  and  therefore  you 
could  not  change  your  life  and  make  sacrifices  to 
that  which  you  did  not  accept.  Besides,  I  do  not 
blame  you ;  on  the  contrary,  I  remember  with  love 
and  gratitude  the  thirty-five  long  years  of  our  life 
in  common,  and  especially  the  first  half  of  the 
time  when,  with  the  courage  and  devotion  of  your 
maternal  nature,  you  bravely  bore  what  you  re- 
garded as  your  mission.  You  have  given  largely 
of  maternal  love  and  made  some  heavy  sacrifices 
.  .  .  but  during  the  latter  part  of  our  life  to- 
gether, during  the  last  fifteen  years,  our  ways  have 
parted.  I  cannot  think  myself  the  guilty  one;  I 
know  that  if  I  have  changed  it  is  not  owing  to 
you,  or  to  the  world,  but  because  I  could  not  do 
otherwise;  nor  can  I  judge  you  for  not  having 
followed  me,  and  I  thank  you  for  what  you  have 
given  me  and  will  ever  remember  it  with  affection. 


INTRODUCTION  39 

"  Adieu,  my  dear  Sophie,  I  love  you." 

The  personal  isolation  he  crave4  was  never  to 
be  his;  but  the  isolation  of  spirit  essential  to 
leadership,  whether  of  thought  or  action,  grew 
year  by  year,  so  that  in  his  own  household  he  was 
veritably  "  in  it  but  not  of  It." 

At  times  his  loneliness  weighed  upon  him,  as 
when  he  wrote :  "  You  would  find  it  difficult  to 
imagine  how  Isolated  I  am,  to  what  an  extent  my 
true  self  is  despised  by  those  who  surround  me." 
But  he  must,  none  the  less,  have  realised,  as  all 
prophets  and  seers  have  done,  that  solitariness 
of  soul  and  freedom  from  the  petty  complexities 
of  social  life  are  necessary  to  the  mystic  whose 
constant  endeavour  is  to  simplify  and  to  winnow 
the  transient  from  the  eternal. 

Notwithstanding  the  Isolation  of  his  inner  life 
he  remained  —  or  it  might  more  accurately  be 
said  he  became  —  the  most  accessible  of  men. 

Appeals  for  guidance  came  to  him  from  all 
parts  of  the  world  —  America,  France,  China, 
Japan  —  while  Yasnaya  Polyana  was  the  frequent 
resort  of  those  needing  advice,  sympathy,  or  prac- 
tical assistance.  None  appealed  to  him  in  vain; 
at  the  same  time,  he  was  exceedingly  chary  of  ex- 
plicit rules  of  conduct.  It  might  be  said  of  Tol- 
stoy that  he  became  a  spiritual  leader  In  spite  of 


40  INTRODUCTION 

himself,  so  averse  was  he  from  assuming  author- 
ity. His  aim  was  ever  to  teach  his  followers 
themselves  to  hear  the  inward  monitory  voice, 
and  to  obey  it  of  their  own  accord.  "  To  know 
the  meaning  of  Life,  you  must  first  know  the 
meaning  of  Love,"  he  would  say;  "  and  then  see 
that  you  do  what  love  bids  you."  His  distrust 
of  "  epidemic  Ideas  "  extended  to  religious  com- 
munities and  congregations. 

"  We  must  not  go  to  meet  each  other,  but  go 
each  of  us  to  God.  You  say  it  is  easier  to  go  all 
together?  Why  yes,  to  dig  or  to  mow.  But 
one  can  only  draw  near  to  God  in  isolation 
.  .  .  I  picture  the  world  to  myself  as  a  vast 
temple,  in  which  the  light  falls  from  above  in  the 
very  centre.  To  meet  together  all  must  go  to- 
wards the  light.  There  we  shall  find  ourselves, 
gathered  from  many  quarters,  united  with  men 
we  did  not  expect  to  see;  therein  is  joy." 

The  humility  which  had  so  completely  sup- 
planted his  youthful  arrogance,  and  which  made 
him  shrink  from  impelling  others  to  follow  In  his 
steps,  endued  him  also  with  the  teachableness  of 
a  child  towards  those  whom  he  accepted  as  his 
spiritual  mentors.  It  was  a  peasant  noncom- 
formist  writer,  Soutaev,  who  by  conversing  with 


INTRODUCTION  41 

him  on  the  revelations  of  the  Gospels  helped  him 
to  regain  his  childhood's  faith,  and  Incidentally 
brought  him  Into  closer  relations  with  religious, 
but  otherwise  untaught,  men  of  the  people.  He 
saw  how  Instead  of  railing  against  fate  after  the 
manner  of  their  social  superiors,  they  endured 
sickness  and  misfortune  with  a  calm  confidence 
that  all  was  by  the  will  of  God,  as  It  must  be  and 
should  be.  From  his  peasant  teachers  he  drew 
the  watchwords  Faith,  Love,  and  Labour,  and  by 
their  light  he  established  that  concord  In  his  own 
life  without  which  the  concord  of  the  universe  re- 
mains Impossible  to  realise.  The  process  of  In- 
ward struggle  —  told  with  unsparing  truth  In 
"  Confession  ''  —  Is  finely  painted  In  *'  Father 
Serge,"  whose  life  story  points  to  the  conclusion 
at  which  Tolstoy  ultimately  arrived,  namely,  that 
not  In  withdrawal  from  the  common  trials  and 
temptations  of  men,  but  In  sharing  them,  lies  our 
best  fulfilment  of  our  duty  towards  mankind  and 
towards  God.  Tolstoy  gave  practical  effect  to 
this  principle,  and  to  this  long- felt  desire  to  be  of 
use  to  the  poor  of  the  country,  by  editing  and  pub- 
lishing, aided  by  his  friend  Chertkov,*  popular 

*  In  Russia  and  out  of  it  Mr.  Chertkov  has  been  the  subject  of 
violent  attack.  Many  of  the  misunderstandings  of  Tolstoy's  later 
years  have  also  been  attributed  by  critics,  and  by  those  who  hate 
or  belittle  his  ideas,  to  the  influence  of  this  friend.  These  at- 
tacks are  very  regrettable  and  require  a  word  of  protest.     From 


42  INTRODUCTION 

tales,  suited  to  the  means  and  intelligence  of  the 
humblest  peasant.  The  undertaking  was  Initiated 
in  1885,  and  continued  for  many  years  to  occupy 
much  of  Tolstoy's  time  and  energies.  He  threw 
himself  with  ardour  into  his  editorial  duties ;  read- 
ing and  correcting  manuscripts,  returning  them 
sometimes  to  the  authors  with  advice  as  to  their 
reconstruction,  and  making  translations  from  for- 
eign works  —  all  this  in  addition  to  his  own  orig- 
inal contributions,  in  which  he  carried  out  the 
principle  which  he  constantly  laid  down  for  his 
collaborators,  that  literary  graces  must  be  set 
aside,  and  that  the  mental  calibre  of  those  for 
whom  the  books  were  primarily  intended  must 
be  constantly  borne  in  mind.  He  attained  a 
splendid  fulfilment  of  his  own  theories,  employing 
the  moujik's  expressive  vernacular  in  portraying 
his  homely  wisdom,  religious  faith,  and  goodness 
of  nature.  Sometimes  the  prevailing  simplicity 
of  style  and  motive  is  tinged  with  a  vague  colour- 
ing of  oriental  legend,  but  the  personal  accent  Is 
marked  throughout.     No  similar  achievement  in 

the  beginning  Mr.  Chertkov  has  striven  to  spread  the  ideas  of 
Tolstoy,  and  has  won  neither  glory  nor  money  from  his  faithful 
and  single-hearted  devotion.  He  has  carried  on  his  work  with  a 
rare  love  and  sympathy  in  spite  of  difficulties.  No  one  appre- 
ciated or  valued  his  friendship  and  self-sacrifice  more  than 
Tolstoy  himself,  who  was  firmly  attached  to  him  from  the  date 
of  his  first  meeting,  consulting  him  and  confiding  in  him  at  every 
moment,  even  during  Mr.  Chertkov's  long  exile. 


INTRODUCTION  43 

modern  literature  has  awakened  so  universal  a 
sense  of  sympathy  and  admiration,  perhaps  be- 
cause none  has  been  so  entirely  a  labour  of  love. 

The  series  of  educational  primers  which  Tol- 
stoy prepared  and  published  concurrently  with  the 
"  Popular  Tales "  have  had  an  equally  large, 
though  exclusively  Russian,  circulation,  being  ad- 
mirably suited  to  their  purpose  —  that  of  teach- 
ing young  children  the  rudiments  of  history, 
geography,  and  science.  Little  leisure  remained 
for  the  service  of  Art. 

The  history  of  Tolstoy  as  a  man  of  letters 
forms  a  separate  page  of  his  biography,  and  one 
Into  which  it  is  not  possible  to  enter  In  the  brief 
compass  of  this  Introduction.  It  requires,  how- 
ever, a  passing  allusion.  Tolstoy  even  In  his  early 
days  never  seems  to  have  approached  near  to  that 
manner  of  life  which  the  literary  man  leads: 
neither  to  have  shut  himself  up  In  his  study,  nor 
to  have  barred  the  entrance  to  disturbing  friends. 
On  the  one  hand,  he  was  fond  of  society,  and  dur- 
ing his  brief  residence  In  St.  Petersburg  was  never 
so  engrossed  in  authorship  as  to  forego  the  pleas- 
ure of  a  ball  or  evening  entertainment.  Little 
wonder,  when  one  looks  back  at  the  brilliant  young 
officer  surrounded  and  petted  by  the  great  hos- 
tesses of  Russia.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was  no 
devotee  at  the  literary  altar.     No  patron  of  lit- 


44  INTRODUCTION 

erature  could  claim  him  as  his  constant  visitor; 
no  Inner  circle  of  men  of  letters  monopolised  his 
Idle  hours.  Afterwards,  when  he  left  the  capital 
and  settled  in  the  country,  he  was  almost  entirely 
cut  off  from  the  association  of  literary  men,  and 
never  seems  to  have  sought  their  companionship. 
Nevertheless,  he  had  all  through  his  life  many  fast 
friends,  among  them  such  as  the  poet  Fet,  the  nov- 
elist Chekhov,  and  the  great  Russian  librarian 
Stassov,  who  often  came  to  him.  These  visits 
always  gave  him  pleasure.  The  discussions, 
whether  on  the  literary  movements  of  the  day  or 
on  the  merits  of  Goethe  or  the  humour  of  Gogol, 
were  welcome  Interruptions  to  his  ever-absorbing 
metaphysical  studies.  In  later  life,  also,  though 
never  In  touch  with  the  rising  generation  of 
authors,  we  find  him  corresponding  with  them, 
criticising  their  style  and  subject  matter.  When 
Andreev,  the  most  modern  of  all  modern  Russian 
writers,  came  to  pay  his  respects  to  Tolstoy  some 
months  before  his  death,  he  was  received  with 
cordiality,  although  Tolstoy,  as  he  expressed  him- 
self afterwards,  felt  that  there  was  a  great  gulf 
fixed  between  them. 

Literature,  as  literature,  had  lost  its  charm  for 
him.  **  You  are  perfectly  right,"  he  writes  to  a 
friend;  "  I  care  only  for  the  Idea,  and  I  pay  no 
attention  to  my  style.'*     The  Idea  was  the  Impor- 


INTRODUCTION  45 

tant  thing  to  Tolstoy  in  everything  that  he  read 
or  wrote.  When  his  attention  was  drawn  to  an 
Illuminating  essay  on  the  poet  Lermontov  he  was 
pleased  with  It,  not  because  It  demonstrated  Ler- 
montov's  position  In  the  literary  history  of  Rus- 
sia, but  because  It  pointed  out  the  moral  aims 
which  underlay  the  wild  Byronism  of  his  works. 
He  reproached  the  novelist  Leskov,  who  had  sent 
him  his  latest  novel,  for  the  ''  exuberance ''  of  his 
flowers  of  speech  and  for  his  florid  sentences  — 
beautiful  In  their  way,  he  says,  but  inexpedient 
and  unnecessary.  He  even  counselled  the  younger 
generation  to  give  up  poetry  as  a  form  of  expres- 
sion and  to  use  prose  Instead.  Poetry,  he  main- 
tained, was  always  artificial  and  obscure.  His 
attitude  towards  the  art  of  writing  remained  to 
the  end  one  of  hostility.  Whenever  he  caught 
himself  working  for  art  he  was  wont  to  reproach 
himself,  and  his  diaries  contain  many  recrimina- 
tions against  his  own  weakness  in  yielding  to  this 
besetting  temptation.  Yet  to  these  very  lapses 
we  are  Indebted  for  this  collection  of  fragments. 

The  greater  number  of  stories  and  plays  con- 
tained In  these  volumes  date  from  the  years  fol- 
lowing upon  Tolstoy's  pedagogic  activity.  Long 
intervals,  however,  elapsed  in  most  cases  between 
the  original  synopsis  and  the  final  touches.  Thus 
"  Father  Serge,"  of  which  he  sketched  the  outline 


46  INTRODUCTION 

to  Mr.  Chertkov  in  1890,  was  so  often  put  aside 
to  make  way  for  purely  ethical  writings  that  not 
till  1898  does  the  entry  occur  in  his  diary,  "To- 
day, quite  unexpectedly,  I  finished  Serge."  A 
year  previously  a  dramatic  incident  had  come  to 
his  knowledge,  which  he  elaborated  in  the  play 
entitled  "  The  Man  who  was  dead.'*  It  ran  on 
the  lines  familiarised  by  Enoch  Arden  and  similar 
stories,  of  a  wife  deserted  by  her  husband  and 
supported  in  his  absence  by  a  benefactor,  whom 
she  subsequently  marries.  In  this  instance  the 
supposed  dead  man  was  suddenly  resuscitated  as 
the  result  of  his  own  admissions  in  his  cups,  the 
wife  and  her  second  husband  being  consequently 
arrested  and  condemned  to  a  term  of  imprison- 
ment. Tolstoy  seriously  attacked  the  subject 
during  the  summer  of  1900,  and  having  brought 
it  within  a  measurable  distance  of  completion  in  a 
shoiffer  time  than  was  usual  with  him,  submitted 
it  to  the  judgment  of  a  circle  of  friends.  The 
drama  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  privileged 
few  who  rea'd  It,  and  some  mention  of  it  appeared 
in  the  newspapers. 

Shortly  afterwards  a  young  man  came  to  see 
Tolstoy  In  private.  He  begged  him  to  refrain 
from  publishing  "  The  Man  who  was  dead,'*  as  it 
was  the  history  of  his  mother's  life,  and  would  dis- 
tress  her   gravely,    besides   possibly   occasioning 


INTRODUCTION  47 

further  police  Intervention.  Tolstoy  promptly 
consented,  and  the  play  remained,  as  It  now  ap- 
pears. In  an  unfinished  condition.  He  had  al- 
ready felt  doubtful  whether  "  It  was  a  thing  God 
would  approve,"  Art  for  Art's  sake  having  in  his 
eyes  no  right  to  existence.  For  this  reason  a 
didactic  tendency  is  Increasingly  evident  in  these 
later  stories.  "  After  the  Ball ''  gives  a  painful 
picture  of  Russian  military  cruelty;  "  The  Forged 
Coupon "  traces  the  cancerous  growth  of  evil, 
and  demonstrates  with  dramatic  force  the  cumu- 
lative misery  resulting  from  one  apparently  trivial 
act  of  wrongdoing. 

Of  the  three  plays  included  in  these  volumes, 
"  The  Light  that  shines  In  Darkness  "  has  a  spe- 
cial claim  to  our  attention  as  an  example  of  auto- 
biography In  the  guise  of  drama.  It  Is  a  speci- 
men of  Tolstoy's  gift  of  seeing  himself  as  others 
saw  him,  and  viewing  a  question  In  all  Its  bear- 
ings. It  presents  not  actions  but  Ideas,  giving 
with  entire  Impartiality  the  opinions  of  his  home 
circle,  of  his  friends,  of  the  Church  and  of  the 
State,  In  regard  to  his  altruistic  propaganda  and 
to  the  anarchism  of  which  he  has  been  accused. 
The  scene  of  the  renunciation  of  the  estates  of  the 
hero  may  be  taken  as  a  literal  version  of  what 
actually  took  place  In  regard  to  Tolstoy  himself, 
while  the  dialogues  by  which  the  piece  Is  carried 


48  INTRODUCTION 

forward  are  more  like  verbatim  records  than  im- 
aginary conversations. 

This  play  was,  in  addition,  a  medium  by  which 
Tolstoy  emphasised  his  abhorrence  of  military 
service,  and  probably  for  this  reason  Its  produc- 
tion is  absolutely  forbidden  In  Russia.  A  word 
may  be  said  here  on  Tolstoy's  so-called  Anarchy, 
a  term  admitting  of  grave  misconstruction.  In 
that  he  denied  the  benefit  of  existing  governments 
to  the  people  over  whom  they  ruled,  and  In  that 
he  stigmatised  standing  armies  as  "  collections  of 
disciplined  murderers,"  Tolstoy  was  an  Anarchist; 
but  In  that  he  reprobated  the  methods  of  violence, 
no  matter  how  righteous  the  cause  at  stake,  and 
upheld  by  word  and  deed  the  gospel  of  Love  and 
submission,  he  cannot  be  judged  guilty  of  Anar- 
chism in  its  full  significance.  He  could  not,  how- 
ever, suppress  the  sympathy  which  he  felt  with 
those  whose  resistance  to  oppression  brought  them 
into  deadly  conflict  with  autocracy.  He  found 
in  the  Caucasian  chieftain,  Hadji  Murat,  a  sub- 
ject full  of  human  interest  and  dramatic  possibili- 
ties; and  though  some  eight  years  passed  before 
he  corrected  the  manuscript  for  the  last  time  (In 
1903),  It  Is  evident  from  the  numbers  of  entries 
in  his  diary  that  it  had  greatly  occupied  his 
thoughts  so  far  back  even  as  the  period  which  he 
spent  in  TIflls  prior  to  the  Crimean  war.     It  was 


INTRODUCTION  49 

then  that  the  final  subjugation  of  the  Caucasus 
took  place,  and  Shamil  and  his  devoted  band 
made  their  last  struggle  for  freedom.  After  the 
lapse  of  half  a  century,  Tolstoy  gave  vent  In 
"  Hadji  Murat "  to  the  resentment  which  the 
military  despotism  of  Nicholas  I.  had  roused  in 
his  sensitive  and  fearless  spirit. 

Courage  was  the  dominant  note  In  Tolstoy's 
character,  and  none  have  excelled  him  In  portray- 
ing brave  men.  His  own  fearlessness  was  of  the 
rarest,  In  that  It  was  both  physical  and  moral. 
The  mettle  tried  and  proved  at  Sebastopol  sus- 
tained him  when  he  had  drawn  on  himself  the 
bitter  animosity  of  "  Holy  Synod  "  and  the  relent- 
less anger  of  Czardom.  In  spite  of  his  non- 
resistance  doctrine,  Tolstoy's  courage  was  not  of 
the  passive  order.  It  was  his  natural  bent  to 
rouse  his  foes  to  combat,  rather  than  wait  for 
their  attack,  to  put  on  the  defensive  every  false- 
hood and  every  wrong  of  which  he  was  cognisant. 
Truth  In  himself  and  In  others  was  what  he  most 
desired,  and  that  to  which  he  strove  at  all  costs 
to  attain.  He  was  his  own  severest  critic,  weigh- 
ing his  own  actions,  analysing  his  own  thoughts, 
and  baring  himself  to  the  eyes  of  the  world  with 
unflinching  candour.  Greatest  of  autobiogra- 
phers,  he  extenuates  nothing:  you  see  the  whole 
man  with  his  worst  faults  and  best  qualities ;  weak- 


50  INTRODUCTION 

nesses  accentuated  by  the  energy  with  which  they 
are  charactered,  apparent  waste  of  mental  forces 
bent  on  solving  the  insoluble,  inherited  tastes  and 
prejudices,  altruistic  impulses  and  virile  passions, 
egoism  and  idealism,  all  strangely  mingled  and 
continually  warring  against  each  other,  until  from 
the  death-throes  of  spiritual  conflict  issued  a  new 
birth  and  a  new  life.  In  the  ancient  Scripture 
"  God  is  love  "  Tolstoy  discerned  fresh  meaning, 
and  strove  with  superhuman  energy  to  bring  home 
that  meaning  to  the  world  at  large.  His  doctrine 
in  fact  appears  less  as  a  new  light  in  the  darkness 
than  as  a  revival  of  the  pure  flame  of  '*  the  Mystic 
of  the  Galilean  hills,"  whose  teaching  he  accepted 
while  denying  His  divinity. 

Of  Tolstoy's  beliefs  in  regard  to  the  Christian 
religion  it  may  be  said  that  with  advancing  years 
he  became  more  and  more  disposed  to  regard 
religious  truth  as  one  continuous  stream  of  spirit- 
ual thought  flowing  through  the  ages  of  man's 
history,  emanating  principally  from  the  inspired 
prophets  and  seers  of  Israel,  India,  and  China. 
Finally,  in  1909,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  he  summed 
up  his  conviction  in  the  following  words : — 

"  For  me  the  doctrine  of  Jesus  is  simply  one  of 
those  beautiful  religious  doctrines  which  we  have 
received   from   Egyptian,   Jewish,   Hindoo,    Chi- 


INTRODUCTION  51 

nese,  and  Greek  antiquity.  The  two  great  prin- 
ciples of  Jesus :  love  of  God  —  in  a  word  absolute 
perfection  —  and  love  of  one's  neighbour,  that  is 
to  say,  love  of  all  men  without  distinction,  have 
been  preached  by  all  the  sages  of  the  world  — 
Krishna,  Buddha,  Lao-tse,  Confucius,  Socrates, 
Plato,  Epictetus,  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  among 
the  moderns,  Rousseau,  Pascal,  Kant,  Emerson, 
Channing,  and  many  others.  Religious  and 
moral  truth  is  everywhere  and  always  the  same.  I 
have  no  predilection  whatever  for  Christianity. 
If  I  have  been  particularly  interested  in  the  doc- 
trine of  Jesus  it  is,  firstly,  because  I  was  born  in 
that  religion  and  have  lived  among  Christians; 
secondly,  because  I  have  found  a  great  spiritual 
joy  in  freeing  the  doctrine  in  its  purity  from 
the  astounding  falsifications  wrought  by  the 
Churches." 

Tolstoy's  life-work  was  indeed  a  splendid  striv- 
ing to  free  truth  from  falsehood,  to  simplify  the 
complexities  of  civilisation  and  demonstrate  their 
futility.  Realists  as  gifted  have  come  and  gone 
and  left  but  little  trace.  It  is  conceivable  that 
the  great  trilogy  of  "  Anna  Karenina,"  "  War  and 
Peace,"  and  "  Resurrection  "  may  one  day  be  for- 
gotten, but  Tolstoy's  teaching  stands  on  firmer 
foundations,  and  has  stirred  the  hearts  of  thou- 


52  INTRODUCTION 

sands  who  are  indifferent  to  the  finest  display  of 
psychic  analysis.  He  has  taught  men  to  venture 
beyond  the  limits  set  by  reason,  to  rise  above  the 
actual  and  to  find  the  meaning  of  life  In  love.  It 
was  his  mission  to  probe  our  moral  ulcers  to  the 
roots  and  to  raise  moribund  Ideals  from  the  dust, 
breathing  his  own  vitality  Into  them,  till  they  rose 
before  our  eyes  as  living  aspirations.  The  spir- 
itual joy  of  which  he  wrote  was  no  rhetorical 
hyperbole;  it  was  manifest  in  the  man  himself, 
and  was  the  fount  of  the  lofty  Idealism  which 
made  him  not  only  "  the  Conscience  of  Russia  " 
but  of  the  civilised  world. 

Idealism  is  one  of  those  large  abstractions 
which  are  Invested  by  various  minds  with  varying 
shades  of  meaning,  and  which  find  expression  In 
an  infinite  number  of  forms.  Ideals  bred  and  fos- 
tered In  the  heart  of  man  receive  at  birth  an  im- 
press from  the  life  that  engenders  them,  and  when 
that  life  is  tempest-tossed  the  thought  that  springs 
from  it  must  bear  a  birth-mark  of  the  storm. 
That  birth-mark  Is  stamped  on  all  Tolstoy's  utter- 
ances, the  simplest  and  the  most  metaphysical. 
But  though  he  did  not  pass  scathless  through  the 
purging  fires,  nor  escape  with  eyes  undimmed  from 
the  mystic  light  which  flooded  his  soul,  his  ideal 
is  not  thereby  invalidated.     It  was,  he  admitted. 


INTRODUCTION  53 

unattainable,  but  none  the  less  a  state  of  perfec- 
tion to  which  we  must  continually  aspire,  un- 
daunted by  partial  failure. 

"  There  is  nothing  wrong  in  not  living  up  to 
the  ideal  which  you  have  made  for  yourself,  but 
what  Is  wrong  Is,  If  on  looking  back,  you  cannot 
see  that  you  have  made  the  least  step  nearer  to 
your  ideal." 

How  far  Tolstoy's  doctrines  may  Influence  suc- 
ceeding generations  It  is  Impossible  to  foretell; 
but  when  time  has  extinguished  what  is  merely 
personal  or  racial,  the  divine  spark  which  he  re- 
ceived from  his  great  spiritual  forerunners  In  other 
times  and  countries  will  undoubtedly  be  found 
alight.  His  universality  enabled  him  to  unite 
himself  closely  with  them  in  mental  sympathy; 
sometimes  so  closely,  as  in  the  case  of  J.  J.  Rous- 
seau, as  to  raise  analogies  and  comparisons  de- 
signed to  show  that  he  merely  followed  In  a  well- 
worn  pathway.  Yet  the  similarity  of  Tolstoy's 
Ideas  to  those  of  the  author  of  the  "  Contrat  So- 
cial "  hardly  goes  beyond  a  mutual  distrust  of 
Art  and  Science  as  aids  to  human  happiness  and 
virtue,  and  a  desire  to  establish  among  mankind 
a  true  sense  of  brotherhood.     For  the  rest,  the 


54  INTRODUCTION 

appeals  which  they  individually  made  to  Human- 
ity were  as  dissimilar  as  the  currents  of  their  lives, 
and  equally  dissimilar  In  effect. 

The  magic  flute  of  Rousseau's  eloquence 
breathed  fanaticism  Into  his  disciples,  and  a  desire 
to  mass  themselves  against  the  foes  of  liberty. 
Tolstoy's  trumpet-call  sounds  a  deeper  note.  It 
pierces  the  heart,  summoning  each  man  to  the  In- 
quisition of  his  own  conscience,  and  to  justify  his 
existence  by  labour,  that  he  may  thereafter  sleep 
the  sleep  of  peace. 

The  exaltation  which  he  awakens  owes  nothing 
to  rhythmical  language  nor  to  subtle  interpreta- 
tions of  sensuous  emotion;  it  proceeds  from  a  per- 
ception of  eternal  truth,  the  truth  that  has  love, 
faith,  courage,  and  self-sacrifice  for  the  corner- 
stones of  Its  enduring  edifice. 

C.  HAGBERG  WRIGHT. 


Note. — Owing  to  circumstances  entirely  outside  the  control  of 
the  editor  some  of  these  translations  have  been  done  in  haste  and 
there  has  not  been  sufficient  time  for  revision. 

The  translators  were  chosen  by  an  agent  of  the  executor  and 
not  by  the  editor. 


List  of  Posthumous  Works,  giving  Date 
when  each  was  finished  or  length  of 
Time  occupied  in  Writing. 

Father  Serge.     1890-98. 

Introduction  to  the  History  of  a  Mother,      1894. 

Memoirs  of  a  Mother.     1894. 

The  Young  Czar,     1894. 

Diary  of  a  Lunatic,     1896. 

Hadji  Murat,     1 896-1904. 

The  Light  that  shines  in  Darkness,     1 898-1 901. 

The  Man  who  was  dead,     1900. 

After  the  Ball,     1903. 

The  Forged  Coupon,     1904. 

Alexis,     1905. 

Diary  of  Alexander  I,     1905. 

The  Dream,     1906. 

Father  Fassily,     1906. 

There  are  no  Guilty  People.      1909. 

The  Wisdom  of  Children.      1909. 

The  Cause  of  it  All,     19 10. 

Chodynko.      19 10. 

Two  Travellers,     Date  uncertain. 


THE    FORGED    COUPON 


THE   FORGED    COUPON 
PART  FIRST 


Fedor  Mihailovich  Smokovnikov,  the  presi- 
dent of  the  local  Income  Tax  Department,  a  man 
of  unswerving  honesty  —  and  proud  of  it,  too  — 
a  gloomy  Liberal,  a  free-thinker,  and  an  enemy 
to  every  manifestation  of  religious  feeling,  which 
he  thought  a  relic  of  superstition,  came  home  from 
his  office  feeling  very  much  annoyed.  The  Gov- 
ernor of  the  province  had  sent  him  an  extraordi- 
narily stupid  minute,  almost  assuming  that  his 
dealings  had  been  dishonest. 

Fedor  Mihailovich  felt  embittered,  and  wrote 
at  once  a  sharp  answer.  On  his  return  home 
everything  seemed  to  go  contrary  to  his  wishes. 

It  was  five  minutes  to  five,  and  he  expected  the 
dinner  to  be  served  at  once,  but  he  was  told  it  was 
not  ready.  He  banged  the  door  and  went  to  his 
study.  Somebody  knocked  at  the  door.  "  Who 
the  devil  is  that?"  he  thought;  and  shouted, — 

59 


6o    ;        THE.  FPBGED  COUPON 

"Who  IS  there?" 

The  door  opened  and  a  boy  of  fifteen  came  in, 
the  son  of  Fedor  Mlhallovich,  a  pupil  of  the  fifth 
class  of  the  local  school. 

"What  do  you  want?  " 

**  It  is  the  first  of  the  month  to-day,  father." 

"  Well !     You  want  your  money?  " 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  father  should  pay 
his  son  a  monthly  allowance  of  three  roubles  as 
pocket  money.  Fedor  Mihailovich  frowned,  took 
out  of  his  pocket-book  a  coupon  of  two  roubles 
fifty  kopeks  which  he  found  among  the  bank- 
notes, and  added  to  it  fifty  kopeks  in  silver  out  of 
the  loose  change  in  his  purse.  The  boy  kept  si- 
lent, and  did  not  take  the  money  his  father  prof- 
fered him. 

"  Father,  please  give  me  some  more  in  ad- 
vance." 

"What?" 

"  I  would  not  ask  for  it,  but  I  have  borrowed  a 
small  sum  from  a  friend,  and  promised  upon  my 
word  of  honour  to  pay  it  off.  My  honour  Is  dear 
to  me,  and  that  is  why  I  want  another  three  rou- 
bles. I  don't  like  asking  you ;  but,  please,  father, 
give  me  another  three  roubles." 

"  I  have  told  you  —  " 

"  I  know,  father,  but  just  for  once." 

"  You  have  an  allowance  of  three  roubles  and 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  6i 

you  ought  to  be  content.  I  had  not  fifty  kopeks 
when  I  was  your  age." 

*'  Now,  all  my  comrades  have  much  more. 
Petrov  and  Ivanltsky  have  fifty  roubles  a  month." 

"  And  I  tell  you  that  if  you  behave  like  them 
you  will  be  a  scoundrel.     Mind  that." 

"What  is  there  to  mind?  You  never  under- 
stand my  position.  I  shall  be  disgraced  if  I  don't 
pay  my  debt.  It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  speak 
as  you  do." 

"  Be  ofif,  you  silly  boy!     Be  ofif !  " 

Fedor  Mihailovich  jumped  from  his  seat  and 
pounced  upon  his  son.  "  Be  off,  I  say  I "  he 
shouted.  "  You  deserve  a  good  thrashing,  all 
you  boys  I  " 

His  son  was  at  once  frightened  and  embittered. 
The  bitterness  was  even  greater  than  the  fright. 
With  his  head  bent  down  he  hastily  turned  to  the 
door.  Fedor  Mihailovich  did  not  intend  to  strike 
him,  but  he  was  glad  to  vent  his  wrath,  and  went 
on  shouting  and  abusing  the  boy  till  he  had  closed 
the  door. 

When  the  maid  came  in  to  announce  that  din- 
ner was  ready,  Fedor  Mihailovich  rose. 

"  At  last!  "  he  said.  "  I  don't  feel  hungry  any 
longer." 

He  went  to  the  dining-room  with  a  sullen  face. 
At  table  his  wife  made  some  remark,  but  he  gave 


62  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

her  such  a  short  and  angry  answer  that  she  ab- 
stained from  further  speech.  The  son  also  did 
not  lift  his  eyes  from  his  plate,  and  was  silent  all 
the  time.  The  trio  finished  their  dinner  in  si- 
lence, rose  from  the  table  and  separated,  without 
a  word. 

After  dinner  the  boy  went  to  his  room,  took  the 
coupon  and  the  change  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
threw  the  money  on  the  table.  After  that  he 
took  off  his  uniform  and  put  on  a  jacket. 

He  sat  down  to  work,  and  began  to  study  Latin 
grammar  out  of  a  dog's-eared  book.  After  a 
while  he  rose,  closed  and  bolted  the  door,  shifted 
the  money  into  a  drawer,  took  out  some  ciga- 
rette papers,  rolled  one  up,  stuffed  it  with  cotton 
wool,  and  began  to  smoke. 

He  spent  nearly  two  hours  over  his  grammar 
and  writing  books  without  understanding  a  word 
of  what  he  saw  before  him;  then  he  rose  and  be- 
gan to  stamp  up  and  down  the  room,  trying  to 
recollect  all  that  his  father  had  said  to  him.  All 
the  abuse  showered  upon  him,  and  worst  of  all 
his  father's  angry  face,  were  as  fresh  in  his  mem- 
ory as  if  he  saw  and  heard  them  all  over  again. 
"Silly  boy!  You  ought  to  get  a  good  thrash- 
ing! "  And  the  more  he  thought  of  it  the  angrier 
he  grew.  He  remembered  also  how  his  father 
said:  "  I  see  what  a  scoundrel  you  will  turn  out. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  63 

I  know  you  will.  You  are  sure  to  become  a  cheat, 
If  you  go  on  like  that.  .  .  ."  He  had  cer- 
tainly forgotten  how  he  felt  when  he  was  young! 
"What  crime  have  I  committed,  I  wonder?  I 
wanted  to  go  to  the  theatre,  and  having  no  money 
borrowed  some  from  Petia  Grouchetsky.  Was 
that  so  very  wicked  of  me?  Another  father 
would  have  been  sorry  for  me;  would  have  asked 
how  It  all  happened;  whereas  he  just  called  me 
names.  He  never  thinks  of  anything  but  himself. 
When  It  Is  he  who  has  not  got  something  he  wants 
—  that  Is  a  different  matter !  Then  all  the  house 
Is  upset  by  his  shouts.  And  I  —  I  am  a  scoundrel, 
a  cheat,  he  says.  No,  I  don't  love  him,  although 
he  is  my  father.  It  may  be  wrong,  but  I  hate 
him.'' 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  servant 
brought  a  letter  —  a  message  from  his  friend. 
"  They  want  an  answer,"  said  the  servant. 

The  letter  ran  as  follows :  "  I  ask  you  now  for 
the  third  time  to  pay  me  back  the  six  roubles  you 
have  borrowed;  you  are  trying  to  avoid  me. 
That  Is  not  the  way  an  honest  man  ought  to  be- 
have. Win  you  please  send  the  amount  by  my 
messenger?  I  am  myself  In  a  frightful  fix.  Can 
you  not  get  the  money  somewhere?  —  Yours,  ac- 
cording to  whether  you  send  the  money  or  not, 
with  scorn,  or  love,  Grouchetsky." 


64  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"  There  we  have  it !     Such  a  pig !     Could  he 
not  wait  a  while?     I  will  have  another  try." 

MItIa  went  to  his  mother.  This  was  his  last 
hope.  His  mother  was  very  kind,  and  hardly 
ever  refused  him  anything.  She  would  probably 
have  helped  him  this  time  also  out  of  his  trouble, 
but  she  was  in  great  anxiety:  her  younger  child, 
Petia,  a  boy  of  two,  had  fallen  ill.  She  got  angry 
with  Mitia  for  rushing  so  noisily  into  the  nursery, 
and  refused  him  almost  without  listening  to  what 
he  had  to  say.  Mitia  muttered  something  to  him- 
self and  turned  to  go.  The  mother  felt  sorry 
for  him.  "  Wait,  Mitia,"  she  said;  "  I  have  not 
got  the  money  you  want  now,  but  I  will  get  it  for 
you  to-morrow." 

But  Mitia  was  still  raging  against  his  father. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  having  it  to-morrow,  when 
I  want  it  to-day?  I  am  going  to  see  a  friend. 
That  is  all  I  have  got  to  say." 

He  went  out,  banging  the  door.  .  .  . 
"  Nothing  else  is  left  to  me.  He  will  tell  me  how 
to  pawn  my  watch,"  he  thought,  touching  his 
watch  in  his  pocket. 

Mitia  went  to  his  room,  took  the  coupon  and 
the  watch  from  the  drawer,  put  on  his  coat,  and 
went  to  Mahin. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  65 


II 

Mahin  was  his  schoolfellow,  his  senior,  a  grown- 
up young  man  with  a  moustache.  He  gambled, 
had  a  large  feminine  acquaintance,  and  always  had 
ready  cash.  He  lived  with  his  aunt.  Mitia 
quite  realised  that  Mahin  was  not  a  respectable 
fellow,  but  when  he  was  In  his  company  he  could 
not  help  doing  what  he  wished.  Mahin  was  in 
when  Mitia  called,  and  was  just  preparing  to  go 
to  the  theatre.  His  untidy  room  smelt  of  scented 
soap  and  eau-de-Cologne. 

"  That's  awful,  old  chap,"  said  Mahin,  when 
MItIa  telling  him  about  his  troubles,  showed  the 
coupon  and  the  fifty  kopeks,  and  added  that  he 
wanted  nine  roubles  more.  "  We  might,  of 
course,  go  and  pawn  your  watch.  But  we  might 
do  something  far  better."  And  Mahin  winked 
an  eye. 

"What's  that?" 

**  Something  quite  simple."  Mahin  took  the 
coupon  In  his  hand.  "  Put  one  before  the  2.50 
and  It  will  be  12.50." 

"  But  do  such  coupons  exist?  " 

"Why,  certainly;  the  thousand  roubles  notes 
have  coupons  of  12.50.  I  have  cashed  one  in 
the  same  way." 


66  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"You  don't  say  so?" 

"Well,  yes  or  no?"  asked  Mahin,  taking  the 
pen  and  smoothing  the  coupon  with  the  fingers  of 
his  left  hand. 

"  But  it  is  wrong."  « 

"Nonsense!" 

"  Nonsense,  indeed,"  thought  Mitia,  and  again 
his  father's  hard  words  came  back  to  his  memory. 
"  Scoundrel  I  As  you  called  me  that,  I  might  as 
well  be  It."  He  looked  into  Mahin's  face. 
Mahin  looked  at  him,  smiling  with  perfect  ease. 

"Well?"  he  said. 

"  All  right.     I  don't  mind." 

Mahin  carefully  wrote  the  unit  in  front  of  2.50. 

"Now  let  us  go  to  the  shop  across  the  road; 
they  sell  photographers'  materials  there.  I  just 
happen  to  want  a  frame  —  for  this  young  person 
here."  He  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  photograph 
of  a  young  lady  with  large  eyes,  luxuriant  hair, 
and  an  uncommonly  well-developed  bust. 

"Is  she  not  sweet?     Eh?" 

"  Yes,  yes     ...     of  course     .     .     ." 

"  Well,  you  see. —  But  let  us  go." 

Mahin  took  his  coat,  and  they  left  the  house. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  67 


III 

The  two  boys,  having  rung  the  door-bell,  entered 
the  empty  shop,  which  had  shelves  along  the  walls 
and  photographic  appliances  on  them,  together 
with  show-cases  on  the  counters.  A  plain  woman, 
with  a  kind  face,  came  through  the  inner  door  and 
asked  from  behind  the  counter  what  they  required. 

"  A  nice  frame,  if  you  please,  madam." 

"  At  what  price?  "  asked  the  woman;  she  wore 
mittens  on  her  swollen  fingers  with  which  she  rap- 
idly handled  picture-frames  of  different  shapes. 

"  These  are  fifty  kopeks  each;  and  these  are  a 
little  more  expensive.  There  Is  rather  a  pretty 
one,  of  quite  a  new  style;  one  rouble  and  twenty 
kopeks.*' 

"All  right,  I  will  have  this.  But  could  not 
you  make  it  cheaper?     Let  us  say  one  rouble.'* 

"  We  don't  bargain  in  our  shop,"  said  the 
shopkeeper  with  a  dignified  air. 

"Well,  I  will  take  it,"  said  Mahin,  and  put 
the  coupon  on  the  counter.  "  Wrap  up  the  frame 
and  give  me  change.  But  please  be  quick.  We 
must  be  off  to  the  theatre,  and  it  is  getting  late." 

"  You  have  plenty  of  time,"  said  the  shop- 
keeper, examining  the  coupon  very  closely  because 
of  her  shortsightedness. 


68  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"  It  will  look  lovely  in  that  frame,  don*t  you 
think  so  ?  "  said  Mahin,  turning  to  Mitia. 

"  Have  you  no  small  change  ?  "  asked  the  shop- 
woman. 

"  I  am  sorry,  I  have  not.  My  father  gave  me 
that,  so  I  have  to  cash  it." 

"  But  surely  you  have  one  rouble  twenty?  " 

"  I  have  only  fifty  kopeks  in  cash.  But  what 
are  you  afraid  of?  You  don*t  think,  I  suppose, 
that  we  want  to  cheat  you  and  give  you  bad 
money?  " 

"Oh,  no;  I  don't  mean  anything  of  the 
sort.'' 

**  You  had  better  give  it  to  me  back.  We  will 
cash  it  somewhere  else." 

"  How  much  have  I  to  pay  you  back?  Eleven 
and  something." 

She  made  a  calculation  on  the  counter,  opened 
the  desk,  took  out  a  ten-roubles  note,  looked  for 
change  and  added  to  the  sum  six  twenty-kopeks 
coins  and  two  five-kopek  pieces. 

"  Please  make  a  parcel  of  the  frame,"  said 
Mahin,  taking  the  money  In  a  leisurely  fashion. 

"  Yes,  sir."  She  made  a  parcel  and  tied  it 
with  a  string. 

Mitia  only  breathed  freely  when  the  door  bell 
rang  behind  them,  and  they  were  again  in  the 
street. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  69 

"  There  are  ten  roubles  for  you,  and  let  me 
have  the  rest.     I  will  give  it  back  to  you." 

Mahin  went  off  to  the  theatre,  and  Mitia  called 
on  Grouchetsky  to  repay  the  money  he  had  bor- 
rowed from  him. 


IV 

An  hour  after  the  boys  were  gone  Eugene  Mlhall-. 
ovich,  the  owner  of  the  shop,  came  home,  and  be- 
gan to  count  his  receipts. 

"  Oh,  you  clumsy  fool !  Idiot  that  you  are  I  " 
he  shouted,  addressing  his  wife,  after  having  seen 
the  coupon  and  noticed  the  forgery. 

"  But  I  have  often  seen  you,  Eugene,  accepting 
coupons  in  payment,  and  precisely  twelve  rouble 
ones,"  retorted  his  wife,  very  humiliated,  grieved, 
and  all  but  bursting  Into  tears.  "  I  really  don't 
know  how  they  contrived  to  cheat  me,'*  she  went 
on.  "  They  were  pupils  of  the  school.  In  uni- 
form. One  of  them  was  quite  a  handsome  boy, 
and  looked  so  comme  il  fautJ* 

"  A  comme  il  faut  fool,  that  Is  what  you  are  I  " 
The  husband  went  on  scolding  her,  while  he 
counted  the  cash.  ..."  When  I  accept 
coupons,  I  see  what  Is  written  on  them.  And  you 
probably  looked  only  at  the  boys'  pretty  faces. 


70  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

You  had  better  behave  yourself  in  your  old  age." 

His  wife  could  not  stand  this,  and  got  into  a 
fury. 

"  That  is  just  like  you  men !  Blaming  every- 
body around  you.  But  when  it  is  you  who  lose 
fifty-four  roubles  at  cards  —  that  is  of  no  conse- 
quence in  your  eyes." 

"  That  is  a  different  matter  —  '* 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you,"  said  his  wife, 
and  went  to  her  room.  There  she  began  to  re- 
mind herself  that  her  family  was  opposed  to  her 
marriage,  thinking  her  present  husband  far  below 
her  in  social  rank,  and  that  it  was  she  who  insisted 
on  marrying  him.  Then  she  went  on  thinking  of 
the  child  she  had  lost,  and  how  indifferent  her 
husband  had  been  to  their  loss.  She  hated  him 
so  intensely  at  that  moment  that  she  wished  for 
his  death.  Her  wish  frightened  her,  however, 
and  she  hurriedly  began  to  dress  and  left  the 
house.  When  her  husband  came  from  the  shop 
to  the  inner  rooms  of  their  flat  she  was  gone. 
Without  waiting  for  him  she  had  dressed  and 
gone  off  to  friends  —  a  teacher  of  French  in  the 
school,  a  Russified  Pole,  and  his  wife  —  who  had 
invited  her  and  her  husband  to  a  party  in  their 
house  that  evening. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  71 


The  guests  at  the  party  had  tea  and  cakes  offered 
to  them,  and  sat  down  after  that  to  play  whist  at 
a  number  of  card-tables. 

The  partners  of  Eugene  Mlhallovlch's  wife 
were  the  host  himself,  an  officer,  and  an  old  and 
very  stupid  lady  in  a  wig,  a  widow  who  owned  a 
music-shop;  she  loved  playing  cards  and  played 
remarkably  well.  But  it  was  Eugene  Mihailo- 
vich's  wife  who  was  the  winner  all  the  time.  The 
best  cards  were  continually  in  her  hands.  At  her 
side  she  had  a  plate  with  grapes  and  a  pear  and 
was  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

"And  Eugene  Mihailovich?  Why  is  he  so 
late?*'  asked  the  hostess,  who  played  at  another 
table. 

"  Probably  busy  settling  accounts,"  said  Eugene 
Mihailovich's  wife.  "  He  has  to  pay  off  the 
tradesmen,  to  get  in  firewood."  The  quarrel  she 
had  with  her  husband  revived  in  her  memory; 
she  frowned,  and  her  hands,  from  which  she  had 
not  taken  off  the  mittens,  shook  with  fury  against 
him. 

"  Oh,  there  he  is.  —  We  have  just  been  speak- 
ing of  you,"  said  the  hostess  to  Eugene  Mihailo- 


72  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

vich,  who  came  in  at  that  very  moment.  "  Why 
are  you  so  late?  '* 

"  I  was  busy,"  answered  Eugene  Mihailovlch, 
in  a  gay  voice,  rubbing  his  hands.  And  to  his 
wife's  surprise  he  came  to  her  side  and  said,  — 

"  You  know,  I  managed  to  get  rid  of  the  cou- 
pon." 

"No!     You  don't  say  so!" 

"  Yes,  I  used  it  to  pay  for  a  cart-load  of  fire- 
wood I  bought  from  a  peasant." 

And  Eugene  Mihailovich  related  with  great  in- 
dignation to  the  company  present  —  his  wife  add- 
ing more  details  to  his  narrative  —  how  his  wife 
had  been  cheated  by  two  unscrupulous  schoolboys. 

"  Well,  and  now  let  us  sit  down  to  work,"  he 
said,  taking  his  place  at  one  of  the  whist-tables 
when  his  turn  came,  and  beginning  to  shuffle  the 
cards. 

VI 

Eugene  Mihailovich  had  actually  used  the  cou- 
pon to  buy  firewood  from  the  peasant  Ivan  Mi- 
ronov,  who  had  thought  of  setting  up  in  business 
on  the  seventeen  roubles  he  possessed.  He  hoped 
in  this  way  to  earn  another  eight  roubles,  and  with 
the  twenty-five  roubles  thus  amassed  he  Intended 
to  buy  a  good  strong  horse,  which  he  would  want 
in  the  spring  for  work  in  the  fields  and  for  driv- 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  73 

ing  on  the  roads,  as  his  old  horse  was  almost 
played  out. 

Ivan  MIronov's  commercial  method  consisted 
In  buying  from  the  stores  a  cord  of  wood  and  di- 
viding it  into  five  cartloads,  and  then  driving 
about  the  town,  selling  each  of  these  at  the  price 
the  stores  charged  for  a  quarter  of  a  cord.  That 
unfortunate  day  Ivan  Mironov  drove  out  very 
early  with  half  a  cartload,  which  he  soon  sold. 
He  loaded  up  again  with  another  cartload  which 
he  hoped  to  sell,  but  he  looked  in  vain  for  a  cus- 
tomer; no  one  would  buy  it.  It  was  his  bad  luck 
all  that  day  to  come  across  experienced  towns- 
people, who  knew  all  the  tricks  of  the  peasants  In 
selling  firewood,  and  would  not  believe  that  he 
had  actually  brought  the  wood  from  the  country 
as  he  assured  them.  He  got  hungry,  and  felt 
cold  in  his  ragged  woollen  coat.  It  was  nearly 
below  zero  when  evening  came  on;  his  horse 
which  he  had  treated  without  mercy,  hoping  soon 
to  sell  it  to  the  knacker's  yard,  refused  to  move  a 
step.  So  Ivan  Mironov  was  quite  ready  to  sell 
his  firewood  at  a  loss  when  he  met  Eugene  Mihail- 
ovlch,  who  was  on  his  way  home  from  the  tobac- 
conist. 

*'  Buy  my  cartload  of  firewood,  sir.  I  will  give 
it  to  you  cheap.  My  poor  horse  is  tired,  and  can't 
go  any  farther.'* 


74  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"Where  do  you  come  from?" 

"  From  the  country,  sir.  This  firewood  is 
from  our  place.  Good  dry  wood,  I  can  assure 
you." 

*'  Good  wood  indeed !  I  know  your  tricks. 
Well,  what  is  your  price?  " 

Ivan  Mironov  began  by  asking  a  high  price, 
but  reduced  it  once,  and  finished  by  selling  the 
cartload  for  just  what  it  had  cost  him. 

"  Tm  giving  it  to  you  cheap,  just  to  please  you, 
sir.  —  Besides,  I  am  glad  It  is  not  a  long  way  to 
your  house,"  he  added. 

Eugene  Mihallovich  did  not  bargain  very  much. 
He  did  not  mind  paying  a  little  more,  because  he 
was  delighted  to  think  he  could  make  use  of  the 
coupon  and  get  rid  of  it.  With  great  difficulty 
Ivan  Mironov  managed  at  last,  by  pulling  the 
shafts  himself,  to  drag  his  cart  into  the  courtyard, 
where  he  was  obliged  to  unload  the  firewood  un- 
aided and  pile  it  up  in  the  shed.  The  yard-porter 
was  out.  Ivan  Mironov  hesitated  at  first  to  ac- 
cept the  coupon,  but  Eugene  Mihallovich  insisted, 
and  as  he  looked  a  very  Important  person  the  peas- 
ant at  last  agreed. 

He  went  by  the  backstairs  to  the  servants' 
room,  crossed  himself  before  the  ikon,  wiped  his 
beard  which  was  covered  with  icicles,  turned  up 
the  skirts  of  his  coat,  took  out  of  his  pocket  a 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  75 

leather  purse,  and  out  of  the  purse  eight  roubles 
and  fifty  kopeks,  and  handed  the  change  to  Eu- 
gene Mihailovich.  Carefully  folding  the  coupon, 
he  put  it  in  the  purse.  Then,  according  to  cus- 
tom, he  thanked  the  gentleman  for  his  kindness, 
and,  using  the  whip-handle  instead  of  the  lash,  he 
belaboured  the  half-frozen  horse  that  he  had 
doomed  to  an  early  death,  and  betook  himself  to 
a  public-house. 

Arriving  there,  Ivan  Mironov  called  for  vodka 
and  tea  for  which  he  paid  eight  kopeks.  Com- 
fortable and  warm  after  the  tea,  he  chatted  in  the 
very  best  of  spirits  with  a  yard-porter  who  was 
sitting  at  his  table.  Soon  he  grew  communicative 
and  told  his  companion  all  about  the  conditions  of 
his  life.  He  told  him  he  came  from  the  village 
Vassilievsky,  twelve  miles  from  town,  and  also 
that  he  had  his  allotment  of  land  given  to  him 
by  his  family,  as  he  wanted  to  live  apart  from  his 
father  and  his  brothers;  that  he  had  a  wife  and 
two  children;  the  elder  boy  went  to  school,  and 
did  not  yet  help  him  in  his  work.  He  also  said  he 
lived  in  lodgings  and  intended  going  to  the  horse- 
fair  the  next  day  to  look  for  a  good  horse,  and, 
may  be,  to  buy  one.  He  went  on  to  state  that  he 
had  now  nearly  twenty-five  roubles  —  only  one 
rouble  short  —  and  that  half  of  it  was  a  coupon. 
He  took  the  coupon  out  of  his  purse  to  show  to  his 


76  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

new  friend.  The  yard-porter  was  an  illiterate 
man,  but  he  said  he  had  had  such  coupons  given 
him  by  lodgers  to  change;  that  they  were  good; 
but  that  one  might  also  chance  on  forged  ones; 
so  he  advised  the  peasant,  for  the  sake  of  security, 
to  change  it  at  once  at  the  counter.  Ivan  Mironov 
gave  the  coupon  to  the  waiter  and  asked  for 
change.  The  waiter,  however,  did  not  bring  the 
change,  but  came  back  with  the  manager,  a  bald- 
headed  man  with  a  shining  face,  who  was  holding 
the  coupon  in  his  fat  hand. 

"  Your  money  is  no  good,"  he  said,  showing  the 
coupon,  but  apparently  determined  not  to  give  it 
back. 

"  The  coupon  must  be  all  right.  I  got  it  from 
a  gentleman.** 

*'  It  is  bad,  I  tell  you.     The  coupon  is  forged." 

"  Forged?     Give  it  back  to  me." 

"  I  will  not.  You  fellows  have  got  to  be  pun- 
ished for  such  tricks.  Of  course,  you  did  it  your- 
self —  you  and  some  of  your  rascally  friends^" 

"  Give  me  the  money.  What  right  have 
you  —  " 

"Sidor!  Call  a  policeman,"  said  the  barman 
to  the  waiter.  Ivan  Mironov  was  rather  drunk, 
and  in  that  condition  was  hard  to  manage.  He 
seized  the  manager  by  the  collar  and  began  to 
shout. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  77 

**  Give  me  back  my  money,  I  say.  I  will  go  to 
the  gentleman  who  gave  it  to  me.  I  know  where 
he  lives." 

The  manager  had  to  struggle  with  all  his  force 
to  get  loose  from  Ivan  Mironov,  and  his  shirt  was 
torn,  — 

"  Oh,  that's  the  way  you  behave !  Get  hold  of 
him." 

The  waiter  took  hold  of  Ivan  Mironov;  at  that 
moment  the  policeman  arrived.  Looking  very 
important,  he  inquired  what  had  happened,  and 
unhesitatingly  gave  his  orders: 

"  Take  him  to  the  police-station." 

As  to  the  coupon,  the  policeman  put  It  in  his 
pocket;  Ivan  Mironov,  together  with  his  horse, 
was  brought  to  the  nearest  station. 


VII 

Ivan  Mironov  had  to  spend  the  night  In  the  po- 
lice-station. In  the  company  of  drunkards  and 
thieves.  It  was  noon  of  the  next  day  when  he 
was  summoned  to  the  police  officer;  put  through 
a  close  examination,  and  sent  in  the  care  of  a  po- 
liceman to  Eugene  Mihailovich's  shop.  Ivan  Mi- 
ronov remembered  the  street  and  the  house. 
The    policeman    asked    for    the    shopkeeper. 


78  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

showed  him  the  coupon  and  confronted  him  with 
Ivan  Mironov,  who  declared  that  he  had  received 
the  coupon  in  that  very  place.  Eugene  Mihailo- 
vich  at  once  assumed  a  very  severe  and  astonished 
air. 

"  You  are  mad,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  never  seen  this  man  before  in  my  life,"  he 
added,  addressing  the  policeman. 

"  It  is  a  sin,  sir,"  said  Ivan  Mironov.  "  Think 
of  the  hour  when  you  will  die." 

"  Why,  you  must  be  dreaming  I  You  have 
sold  your  firewood  to  some  one  else,"  said  Eu- 
gene Mihailovich.  "  But  wait  a  minute.  I  will 
go  and  ask  my  wife  whether  she  bought  any  fire- 
wood yesterday."  Eugene  Mihailovich  left  them 
and  immediately  called  the  yard-porter  Vassily,  a 
strong,  handsome,  quick,  cheerful,  well-dressed 
man. 

He  told  Vassily  that  if  any  one  should  inquire 
where  the  last  supply  of  firewood  was  bought,  he 
was  to  say  they'd  got  it  from  the  stores,  and  not 
from  a  peasant  in  the  street. 

"  A  peasant  has  come,"  he  said  to  Vassily, 
"  who  has  declared  to  the  police  that  I  gave  him 
a  forged  coupon.  He  is  a  fool  and  talks  non- 
sense, but  you  are  a  clever  man.  Mind  you  say 
that  we  always  get  the  firewood  from  the  stores. 
And,  by  the  way,  I've  been  thinking  some  time  of 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  79 

giving  you  money  to  buy  a  new  jacket,"  added  Eu- 
gene Mihallovich,  and  gave  the  man  five  roubles. 
Vassily  looking  with  pleasure  first  at  the  five  rou- 
ble note,  then  at  Eugene  Mihailovich's  face,  shook 
his  head  and  smiled. 

"  I  know,  those  peasant  folks  have  no  brains. 
Ignorance,  of  course.  Don't  you  be  uneasy.  I 
know  what  I  have  to  say.'* 

Ivan  Mironov,  with  tears  In  his  eyes.  Implored 
Eugene  Mihailovich  over  and  over  again  to  ac- 
knowledge the  coupon  he  had  given  him,  and  the 
yard-porter  to  believe  what  he  said,  but  it  proved 
quite  useless;  they  both  Insisted  that  they  had 
never  bought  firewood  from  a  peasant  in  the 
street.  The  policeman  brought  Ivan  Mironov 
back  to  the  police-station,  and  he  was  charged  with 
forging  the  coupon.  Only  after  taking  the  ad- 
vice of  a  drunken  office  clerk  in  the  same  cell  with 
him,  and  bribing  the  police  officer  with  five  rou- 
bles, did  Ivan  Mironov  get  out  of  jail,  without 
the  coupon,  and  with  only  seven  roubles  left  out 
of  the  twenty-five  he  had  the  day  before. 

Of  these  seven  roubles  he  spent  three  in  the 
public-house  and  came  home  to  his  wife  dead 
drunk,  with  a  bruised  and  swollen  face. 

His  wife  was  expecting  a  child,  and  felt  very 
111.  She  began  to  scold  her  husband;  he  pushed 
her  away,  and  she  struck  him.     Without  answer- 


8o  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

ing  a  word  he  lay  down  on  the  plank  and  began 
to  weep  bitterly. 

Not  till  the  next  day  did  he  tell  his  wife  what 
had  actually  happened.  She  believed  him  at 
once,  and  thoroughly  cursed  the  dastardly  rich 
man  who  had  cheated  Ivan.  He  was  sobered 
now,  and  remembering  the  advice  a  workman  had 
given  him,  with  whom  he  had  many  a  drink  the 
day  before,  decided  to  go  to  a  lawyer  and  tell  him 
of  the  wrong  the  owner  of  the  photograph  shop 
had  done  him. 


VIII 

The  lawyer  consented  to  take  proceedings  on  be- 
half of  Ivan  Mironov,  not  so  much  for  the  sake 
of  the  fee,  as  because  he  believed  the  peasant,  and 
was  revolted  by  the  wrong  done  to  him. 

Both  parties  appeared  in  the  court  when  the 
case  was  tried,  and  the  yard-porter  Vasslly  was 
summoned  as  witness.  They  repeated  In  the 
court  all  they  had  said  before  to  the  police  officials. 
Ivan  Mironov  again  called  to  his  aid  the  name  of 
the  Divinity,  and  reminded  the  shopkeeper  of  the 
hour  of  death.  Eugene  Mlhallovlch,  although 
quite  aware  of  his  wickedness,  and  the  risks  he 
was  running,  despite  the  rebukes  of  his  conscience, 
could  not  now  change  his  testimony,  and  went  on 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  8i 

calmly  to  deny  all  the  allegations  made  against 
him. 

The  yard-porter  Vassily  had  received  another 
ten  roubles  from  his  master,  and,  quite  unper- 
turbed, asserted  with  a  smile  that  he  did  not  know 
anything  about  Ivan  Mironov.  Arid  when  he 
was  called  upon  to  take  the  oath,  he  overcame  his 
inner  qualms,  and  repeated  with  assumed  ease 
the  terms  of  the  oath,  read  to  him  by  the  old 
priest  appointed  to  the  court.  By  the  holy  Cross 
and  the  Gospel,  he  swore  that  he  spoke  the  whole 
truth. 

The  case  was  decided  against  Ivan  Mironov, 
who  was  sentenced  to  pay  five  roubles  for  expenses. 
This  sum  Eugene  Mihailovich  generously  paid 
for  him.  Before  dismissing  Ivan  Mironov,  the 
judge  severely  admonished  him,  saying  he  ought 
to  take  care  in  the  future  not  to  accuse  respectable 
people,  and  that  he  also  ought  to  be  thankful  that 
he  was  not  forced  to  pay  the  costs,  and  that  he  had 
escaped  a  prosecution  for  slander,  for  which  he 
would  have  been  condemned  to  three  months'  im- 
prisonment. 

"  I  offer  my  humble  thanks,"  said  Ivan  Mi- 
ronov; and,  shaking  his  head,  left  the  court  with 
a  heavy  sigh. 

The  whole  thing  seemed  to  have  ended  well  for 
Eugene  Mihailovich  and  the  yard-porter  Vassily. 


82  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

« 

But  only  in  appearance.  Something  had  hap- 
pened which  was  not  noticed  by  any  one,  but  which 
was  much  more  Important  than  all  that  had  been 
exposed  to  view. 

Vasslly  had  left  his  village  and  settled  In  town 
over  two  years  ago.  As  time  went  on  he  sent 
less  and  less  money  to  his  father,  and  he  did  not 
ask  his  wife,  who  remained  at  home,  to  join  him. 
He  was  In  no  need  of  her;  he  could  In  town  have 
as  many  wives  as  he  wished,  and  much  better  ones 
too  than  that  clumsy,  village-bred  woman.  Vas- 
slly, with  each  recurring  year,  became  more  and 
more  familiar  with  the  ways  of  the  town  people, 
forgetting  the  conventions  of  a  country  life. 
There  everything  was  so  vulgar,  so  grey,  so  poor 
and  untidy.  Here,  In  town,  all  seemed  on  the 
contrary  so  refined,  nice,  clean,  and  rich;  so  or- 
derly too.  And  he  became  more  and  more  con- 
vinced that  people  In  the  country  live  just  like 
wild  beasts,  having  no  Idea  of  what  life  Is,  and 
that  only  life  In  town  Is  real.  He  read  books 
written  by  clever  writers,  and  went  to  the  perform- 
ances In  the  Peoples'  Palace.  In  the  country, 
people  would  not  see  such  wonders  even  In  dreams. 
In  the  country  old  men  say:  "  Obey  the  law,  and 
live  with  your  wife;  work;  don't  eat  too  much; 
don't  care  for  finery,"  while  here,  in  town,  all  the 
clever    and   learned   people  —  those,    of    course, 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  83 

who  know  what  In  reality  the  law  Is  —  only  pur- 
sue their  own  pleasures.  And  they  are  the  bet- 
ter for  It. 

Previous  to  the  Incident  of  the  forged  coupon, 
Vasslly  could  not  actually  believe  that  rich  people 
lived  without  any  moral  law.  But  after  that, 
still  more  after  having  perjured  himself,  and  not 
being  the  worse  for  It  In  spite  of  his  fears  —  on 
the  contrary,  he  had  gained  ten  roubles  out  of  it 
—  Vassily  became  firmly  convinced  that  no  moral 
laws  whatever  exist,  and  that  the  only  thing  to  do 
is  to  pursue  one's  own  Interests  and  pleasures. 
This  he  now  made  his  rule  In  life.  He  accord- 
ingly got  as  much  profit  as  he  could  out  of  pur- 
chasing goods  for  lodgers.  But  this  did  not  pay 
all  his  expenses.  Then  he  took  to  stealing,  when- 
ever chance  offered  —  money  and  all  sorts  of  val- 
uables. One  day  he  stole  a  purse  full  of  money 
from  Eugene  Mihallovlch,  but  was  found  out. 
Eugene  Mihallovlch  did  not  hand  him  over  to  the 
police,  but  dismissed  him  on  the  spot. 

Vasslly  had  no  wish  whatever  to  return  home 
to  his  village,  and  remained  In  Moscow  with  his 
sweetheart,  looking  out  for  a  new  job.  He  got 
one  as  yard-porter  at  a  grocer's,  but  with  only 
small  wages.  The  next  day  after  he  had  entered 
that  service  he  was  caught  stealing  bags.  The 
grocer  did  not  call  in  the  police,  but  gave  him  a 


84  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

good  thrashing  and  turned  him  out.  After  that 
he  could  not  find  work.  The  money  he  had  left 
was  soon  gone;  he  had  to  sell  all  his  clothes  and 
went  about  nearly  in  rags.  His  sweetheart  left 
him.  But  notwithstanding,  he  kept  up  his  high 
spirits,  and  when  the  spring  came  he  started  to 
walk  home. 


IX 

Peter  Nikolaevich  Sventizky,  a  short  man  in 
black  spectacles  (he  had  weak  eyes,  and  was 
threatened  with  complete  blindness),  got  up,  as 
was  his  custom,  at  dawn  of  day,  had  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  putting  on  his  short  fur  coat  trimmed  with 
astrachan,  went  to  look  after  the  work  on  his  es- 
tate. 

Peter  Nikolaevich  had  been  an  official  in  the 
Customs,  and  had  gained  eighteen  thousand  rou- 
bles during  his  service.  About  twelve  years  ago 
he  quitted  the  service  —  not  quite  of  his  own  ac- 
cord: as  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  been  compelled 
to  leave  —  and  bought  an  estate  from  a  young 
land-owner  who  had  dissipated  his  fortune.  Peter 
Nikolaevich  had  married  at  an  earlier  period, 
while  still  an  official  in  the  Customs.  His  wife, 
who  belonged  to  an  old  noble  family,  was  an 
orphan,  and  was  left  without  money.     She  was 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  85 

a  tall,  stoutlsh,  good-looking  woman.  They  had 
no  children.  Peter  Nikolaevich  had  considerable 
practical  talents  and  a  strong  will.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  Polish  gentleman,  and  knew  nothing 
about  agriculture  and  land  management;  but 
when  he  acquired  an  estate  of  his  own,  he  man- 
aged it  so  well  that  after  fifteen  years  the  waste 
piece  of  land,  consisting  of  three  hundred  acres, 
became  a  model  estate.  All  the  buildings,  from 
the  dwelling-house  to  the  corn  stores  and  the  shed 
for  the  fire  engine  were  solidly  built,  had  iron 
roofs,  and  were  painted  at  the  right  time.  In  the 
tool  house  carts,  ploughs,  harrows,  stood  in  per- 
fect order,  the  harness  was  well  cleaned  and  oiled. 
The  horses  were  not  very  big,  but  all  home-bred, 
grey,  well  fed,  strong  and  devoid  of  blemish. 

The  threshing  machine  worked  in  a  roofed 
barn,  the  forage  was  kept  in  a  separate  shed,  and 
a  paved  drain  was  made  from  the  stables.  The 
cows  were  home-bred,  not  very  large,  but  giving 
plenty  of  milk ;  fowls  were  also  kept  in  the  poultry 
yard,  and  the  hens  were  of  a  special  kind,  laying 
a  great  quantity  of  eggs.  In  the  orchard  the  fruit 
trees  were  well  whitewashed  and  propped  on  poles 
to  enable  them  to  grow  straight.  Everything  was 
looked  after  —  solid,  clean,  and  in  perfect  order. 
Peter  Nikolaevich  rejoiced  in  the  perfect  condi- 
tion of  his  estate,  and  was  proud  to  have  achieved 


S6  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

It  —  not  by  oppressing  the  peasants,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  by  the  extreme  fairness  of  his  dealings 
with  them. 

Among  the  nobles  of  his  province  he  belonged 
to  the  advanced  party,  and  was  more  inclined  to 
liberal  than  conservative  views,  always  taking  the 
side  of  the  peasants  against  those  who  were  still 
in  favour  of  serfdom.  "  Treat  them  well,  and 
they  will  be  fair  to  you,"  he  used  to  say.  Of 
course,  he  did  not  overlook  any  carelessness  on 
the  part  of  those  who  worked  on  his  estate,  and 
he  urged  them  on  to  work  if  they  were  lazy;  but 
then  he  gave  them  good  lodging,  with  plenty  of 
good  food,  paid  their  wages  without  any  delay, 
and  gave  them  drinks  on  days  of  festival. 

Walking  cautiously  on  the  melting  snow  —  for 
the  time  of  the  year  was  February  —  Peter  Nikol- 
aevich  passed  the  stables,  and  made  his  way  to 
the  cottage  where  his  workmen  were  lodged. 
It  was  still  dark,  the  darker  because  of  the  dense 
fog;  but  the  windows  of  the  cottage  were  lighted. 
The  men  had  already  got  up.  His  intention  was 
to  urge  them  to  begin  work.  He  had  arranged 
that  they  should  drive  out  to  the  forest  and  bring 
back  the  last  supply  of  firewood  he  needed  before 
spring. 

"What  is  that?"  he  thought,  seeing  the  door 
of  the  stable  wide  open.     '*  Hallo,  who  is  there?  " 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  87 

No  answer.  Peter  Nikolaevlch  stepped  into 
the  stable.  It  was  dark;  the  ground  was  soft 
under  his  feet,  and  the  air  smelt  of  dung;  on  the 
right  side  of  the  door  were  two  loose  boxes  for 
a  pair  of  grey  horses.  Peter  Nikolaevlch 
stretched  out  his  hand  In  their  direction  —  one 
box  was  empty.  He  put  out  his  foot  —  the  horse 
might  have  been  lying  down.  But  his  foot  did 
not  touch  anything  solid.  "  Where  could  they 
have  taken  the  horse?"  he  thought.  They  cer- 
tainly had  not  harnessed  it;  all  the  sledges  stood 
still  outside.  Peter  Nikolaevlch  went  out  of  the 
stable. 

"  Stepan,  come  here  I  "  he  called. 

Stepan  was  the  head  of  the  workmen's  gang. 
He  was  just  stepping  out  of  the  cottage. 

"  Here  I  am !  "  he  said,  in  a  cheerful  voice. 
**  Oh,  is  that  you,  Peter  Nikolaevlch?  Our  men 
are  coming." 

"  Why  is  the  stable  door  open?  " 

"  Is  It?  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  I 
say,  Proshka,  bring  the  lantern !  " 

Proshka  came  with  the  lantern.  They  all  went 
to  the  stable,  and  Stepan  knew  at  once  what  had 
happened. 

"  Thieves  have  been  here,  Peter  Nikolaevlch," 
he  said.     *'  The  lock  Is  broken." 

"  No;  you  don't  say  so!  " 


88  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"  Yes,  the  brigands !     I  don't  see  *  Mashka.' 

*  Hawk  '  IS  here.     But  *  Beauty  '  is  not.     Nor  yet 

*  Dapple-grey.'  " 

Three  horses  had  been  stolen ! 

Peter  NIkolaevich  did  not  utter  a  word  at  first. 
He  only  frowned  and  took  deep  breaths. 

'*  Oh,"  he  said  after  a  while.  "  If  only  I  could 
lay  hands  on  them !     Who  was  on  guard?  " 

"  Peter.     He  evidently  fell  asleep." 

Peter  NIkolaevich  called  In  the  police,  and 
making  an  appeal  to  all  the  authorities,  sent  his 
men  to  track  the  thieves.  But  the  horses  were 
not  to  be  found. 

"Wicked  people,"  said  Peter  NIkolaevich. 
"How  could  they!  I  was  always  so  kind  to 
them.  Now,  wait  I  Brigands!  Brigands  the 
whole  lot  of  them.     I  will  no  longer  be  kind." 


In  the  meanwhile  the  horses,  the  grey  ones,  had 
all  been  disposed  of;  Mashka  was  sold  to  the  gip- 
sies for  eighteen  roubles;  Dapple-grey  was  ex- 
changed for  another  horse,  and  passed  over  to 
another  peasant  who  lived  forty  miles  away  from 
the  estate ;  and  Beauty  died  on  the  way.  The  man 
who  conducted  the  whole  affair  was  —  Ivan  Mi- 
ronov.     He  had  been  employed  on  the  estate,  and 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  89 

knew  all  the  whereabouts  of  Peter  NIkolaevIch. 
He  wanted  to  get  back  the  money  he  had  lost,  and 
stole  the  horses  for  that  reason. 

After  his  misfortune  with  the  forged  coupon, 
Ivan  Mironov  took  to  drink;  and  all  he  possessed 
would  have  gone  on  drink  if  it  had  not  been  for 
his  wife,  who  locked  up  his  clothes,  the  horses* 
collars,  and  all  the  rest  of  what  he  would  other- 
wise have  squandered  in  public-houses.  In  his 
drunken  state  Ivan  Mironov  was  continually- 
thinking,  not  only  of  the  man  who  had  wronged 
him,  but  of  all  the  rich  people  who  live  on  robbing 
the  poor.  One  day  he  had  a  drink  with  some 
peasants  from  the  suburbs  of  Podolsk,  and  was 
walking  home  together  with  them.  On  the  way 
the  peasants,  who  were  completely  drunk,  told  him 
they  had  stolen  a  horse  from  a  peasant's  cottage. 
Ivan  Mironov  got  angry,  and  began  to  abuse  the 
horse-thieves. 

*'  What  a  shame  I  '*  he  said.  "  A  horse  is  like 
a  brother  to  the  peasant.  And  you  robbed  him  of 
It?  It  is  a  great  sin,  I  tell  you.  If  you  go  in  for 
stealing  horses,  steal  them  from  the  landowners. 
They  are  worse  than  dogs,  and  deserve  anything.'' 

The  talk  went  on,  and  the  peasants  from  Po- 
dolsk told  him  that  it  required  a  great  deal  of 
cunning  to  steal  a  horse  on  an  estate. 

"  You  must  know  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the 


90  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

place,  and  must  have  somebody  on  the  spot  to 
help  you." 

Then  it  occurred  to  Ivan  Mironov  that  he  knew 
a  landowner  —  Sventlzky;  he  had  worked  on  his 
estate,  and  Sventlzky,  when  paying  him  off,  had 
deducted  one  rouble  and  a  half  for  a  broken  tool. 
He  remembered  well  the  grey  horses  which  he 
used  to  drive  at  Sventizky's. 

Ivan  Mironov  called  on  Peter  NIkolaevich  pre- 
tending to  ask  for  employment,  but  really  in  or- 
der to  get  the  Information  he  wanted.  He  took 
precautions  to  make  sure  that  the  watchman  was 
absent,  and  that  the  horses  were  standing  in  their 
boxes  In  the  stable.  He  brought  the  thieves  to 
the  place,  and  helped  them  to  carry  off  the  three 
horses. 

They  divided  their  gains,  and  Ivan  Mironov 
returned  to  his  wife  with  five  roubles  in  his  pocket. 
He  had  nothing  to  do  at  home,  having  no  horse 
to  work  in  the  field,  and  therefore  continued  to 
steal  horses  in  company  with  professional  horse- 
thieves  and  gipsies. 

XI 

Peter  Nikolaevich  Sventizky  did  his  best  to 
discover  who  had  stolen  his  horses.  He  knew 
somebody  on  the   estate  must  have   helped  the 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  91 

thieves,  and  began  to  suspect  all  his  staff.  He 
Inquired  who  had  slept  out  that  night,  and  the 
gang  of  the  working  men  told  him  Proshka  had 
not  been  in  the  whole  night.  Proshka,  or  Prokofy 
Nikolaevich,  was  a  young  fellow  who  had  just  fin- 
ished his  military  service,  handsome,  and  skilful 
in  all  he  did;  Peter  Nikolaevich  employed  him  at 
times  as  coachman.  The  district  constable  was  a 
friend  of  Peter  Nikolaevich,  as  were  the  provin- 
cial head  of  the  police,  the  marshal  of  the  nobility, 
and  also  the  rural  councillor  and  the  examining 
magistrate.  They  all  came  to  his  house  on  his 
saint's  day,  drinking  the  cherry  brandy  he  offered 
them  with  pleasure,  and  eating  the  nice  preserved 
mushrooms  of  all  kinds  to  accompany  the  liqueurs. 
They  all  sympathised  with  him  in  his  trouble  and 
tried  to  help  him. 

"  You  always  used  to  take  the  side  of  the  peas- 
ants," said  the  district  constable,  "  and  there  you 
are!  I  was  right  in  saying  they  are  worse  than 
wild  beasts.  Flogging  is  the  only  way  to  keep 
them  in  order.  Well,  you  say  it  is  all  Proshka's 
doings.  Is  it  not  he  who  was  your  coachman 
sometimes?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  he." 

**  Will  you  kindly  call  him?" 

Proshka  was  summoned  before  the  constable, 
who  began  to  examine  him. 


92  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"  Where  were  you  that  night?  " 

Proshka  pushed  back  his  hair,  and  his  eyes 
sparkled. 

"  At  home." 

**  How  so?     All  the  men  say  you  were  not  in." 

"  Just  as  you  please,  your  honour." 

**  My  pleasure  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  mat- 
ter.    Tell  me  where  you  were  that  night." 

"  At  home." 

"Very  well.  Policeman,  bring  him  to  the  po- 
lice-station." 

The  reason  why  Proshka  did  not  say  where  he 
had  been  that  night  was  that  he  had  spent  it  with 
his  sweetheart,  Parasha,  and  had  promised  not  to 
give  her  away.  He  kept  his  word.  No  proofs 
were  discovered  against  him,  and  he  was  soon  dis- 
charged. But  Peter  Nikolaevich  was  convinced 
that  Prokofy  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole 
affair,  and  began  to  hate  him.  One  day  Proshka 
bought  as  usual  at  the  merchant's  two  measures  of 
oats.  One  and  a  half  he  gave  to  the  horses,  and 
half  a  measure  he  gave  back  to  the  merchant ;  the 
money  for  it  he  spent  in  drink.  Peter  Nikolae- 
vich found  it  out,  and  charged  Prokofy  with  cheat- 
ing. The  judge  sentenced  the  man  to  three 
months'  imprisonment. 

Prokofy  had  a  rather  proud  nature,  and  thought 
himself  superior  to  others.     Prison  was  a  great 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  93 

humiliation  for  him.  He  came  out  of  it  very 
depressed;  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  proud 
of  in  life.  And  more  than  that,  he  felt  extremely 
bitter,  not  only  against  Peter  Nikolaevich,  but 
against  the  whole  world. 

On  the  whole,  as  all  the  people  around  him  no- 
ticed, Prokofy  became  another  man  after  his  im- 
prisonment, both  careless  and  lazy;  he  took  to 
drink,  and  he  was  soon  caught  stealing  clothes  at 
some  woman's  house,  and  found  himself  again  in 
prison. 

All  that  Peter  Nikolaevich  discovered  about  his 
grey  horses  was  the  hide  of  one  of  them,  Beauty, 
which  had  been  found  somewhere  on  the  estate. 
The  fact  that  the  thieves  had  got  off  scot-free 
irritated  Peter  Nikolaevich  still  more.  He  was 
unable  now  to  speak  of  the  peasants  or  to  look  at 
them  without  anger.  And  whenever  he  could  he 
tried  to  oppress  them. 

XII 

After  having  got  rid  of  the  coupon,  Eugene 
Mihailovich  forgot  all  about  it;  but  his  wife,  Ma- 
ria Vassilievna,  could  not  forgive  herself  for  hav- 
ing been  taken  in,  nor  yet  her  husband  for  his  cruel 
words.  And  most  of  all  she  was  furious  against 
the  two  boys  who  had  so  skilfully  cheated  her. 


94  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

From  the  day  she  had  accepted  the  forged  coupon 
as  payment,  she  looked  closely  at  all  the  school- 
boys who  came  in  her  way  In  the  streets.  One 
day  she  met  Mahin,  but  did  not  recognise  him, 
for  on  seeing  her  he  made  a  face  which  quite 
changed  his  features.  But  when,  a  fortnight  after 
the  incident  with  the  coupon,  she  met  Mitia 
Smokovnikov  face  to  face,  she  knew  him  at  once. 

She  let  him  pass  her,  then  turned  back  and 
followed  him,  and  arriving  at  his  house  she  made 
inquiries  as  to  whose  son  he  was.  The  next  day 
she  went  to  the  school  and  met  the  divinity 
instructor,  the  priest  Michael  Vedensky,  in  the 
hall.  He  asked  her  what  she  wanted.  She  an- 
swered that  she  wished  to  see  the  head  of  the 
school.  "  He  is  not  quite  well,"  said  the  priest. 
"  Can  I  be  of  any  use  to  you,  or  give  him  your 
message?" 

Maria  Vassilievna  thought  that  she  might  as 
well  tell  the  priest  what  was  the  matter.  Michael 
Vedensky  was  a  widower,  and  a  very  ambitious 
man.  A  year  ago  he  had  met  Mitia  Smokovni- 
kov's  father  in  society,  and  had  had  a  discussion 
with  him  on  religion.  Smokovnikov  had  beaten 
him  decisively  on  all  points ;  indeed,  he  had  made 
him  appear  quite  ridiculous.  Since  that  time  the 
priest  had  decided  to  pay  special  attention  to 
Smokovnikov's  son ;  and,  finding  him  as  indifferent 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  95 

to  religious  matters  as  his  father  was,  he  began 
to  persecute  him,  and  even  brought  about  his  fail- 
ure in  examinations. 

When  Maria  Vassilievna  told  him  what  young 
Smokovnikov  had  done  to  her,  Vedensky  could 
not  help  feeling  an  inner  satisfaction.  He  saw  in 
the  boy's  conduct  a  proof  of  the  utter  wickedness 
of  those  who  are  not  guided  by  the  rules  of  the 
Church.  He  decided  to  take  advantage  of  this 
great  opportunity  of  warning  unbelievers  of  the 
perils  that  threatened  them.  At  all  events,  he 
wanted  to  persuade  himself  that  this  was  the  only 
motive  that  guided  him  in  the  course  he  had  re- 
solved to  take.  But  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he 
was  only  anxious  to  get  his  revenge  on  the  proud 
atheist. 

"  Yes,  It  IS  very  sad  indeed,"  said  Father  Mi- 
chael, toying  with  the  cross  he  was  wearing  over 
his  priestly  robes,  and  passing  his  hands  over  Its 
polished  sides.  **  I  am  very  glad  you  have  given 
me  your  confidence.  As  a  servant  of  the  Church 
I  shall  admonish  the  young  man  —  of  course  with 
the  utmost  kindness.  I  shall  certainly  do  it  In 
the  way  that  befits  my  holy  office,''  said  Father 
Michael  to  himself,  really  thinking  that  he  had 
forgotten  the  ill-feeling  the  boy's  father  had  to- 
wards him.  He  firmly  believed  the  boy's  soul 
to  be  the  only  object  of  his  plaus  care. 


96  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

The  next  day,  during  the  divinity  lesson  which 
Father  Michael  was  giving  to  Mitia  Smokovni- 
kov's  class,  he  narrated  the  incident  of  the  forged 
coupon,  adding  that  the  culprit  had  been  one  of 
the  pupils  of  the  school.  "  It  was  a  very  wicked 
thing  to  do,"  he  said;  "but  to  deny  the  crime  is 
still  worse.  If  it  is  true  that  the  sin  has  been  com- 
mitted by  one  of  you,  let  the  guilty  one  confess." 
In  saying  this.  Father  Michael  looked  sharply  at 
Mitia  Smokovnikov.  All  the  boys,  following  his 
glance,  turned  also  to  Mitia,  who  blushed,  and 
felt  extremely  ill  at  ease,  with  large  beads  of 
perspiration  on  his  face.  Finally,  he  burst  into 
tears,  and  ran  out  of  the  classroom.  His  mother, 
noticing  his  trouble,  found  out  the  truth,  ran  at 
once  to  the  photographer's  shop,  paid  over  the 
twelve  roubles  and  fifty  kopeks  to  Maria  Vas- 
silievna,  and  made  her  promise  to  deny  the  boy's 
guilt.  She  further  implored  Mitia  to  hide  the 
truth  from  everybody,  and  in  any  case  to  withhold 
It  from  his  father. 

Accordingly,  when  Fedor  Mihailovich  had 
heard  of  the  incident  in  the  divinity  class,  and  his 
son,  questioned  by  him,  had  denied  all  accusations, 
he  called  at  once  on  the  head  of  the  school,  told 
him  what  had  happened,  expressed  his  indignation 
at  Father  Michael's  conduct,  and  said  he  would 
not  let  matters  remain  as  they  were. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  97 

Father  Michael  was  sent  for,  and  immediately 
fell  into  a  hot  dispute  with  Smokovnikov. 

"  A  stupid  woman  first  falsely  accused  my  son, 
then  retracts  her  accusation,  and  you  of  course 
could  not  hit  on  anything  more  sensible  to  do  than 
to  slander  an  honest  and  truthful  boy!  " 

"  I  did  not  slander  him,  and  I  must  beg  you  not 
to  address  me  in  such  a  way.  You  forget  what 
is  due  to  my  cloth." 

"  Your  cloth  is  of  no  consequence  to  me." 

"  Your  perversity  in  matters  of  religion  is 
known  to  everybody  in  the  town  I  "  replied  Father 
Michael;  and  he  was  so  transported  with  anger 
that  his  long  thin  head  quivered. 

"  Gentlemen  I  Father  Michael !  '*  exclaimed 
the  director  of  the  school,  trying  to  appease  their 
wrath.     But  they  did  not  listen  to  him. 

"  It  is  my  duty  as  a  priest  to  look  after  the 
religious  and  moral  education  of  our  pupils." 

"  Oh,  cease  your  pretence  to  be  religious ! 
Oh,  stop  all  this  humbug  of  religion!  As  if  I 
did  not  know  that  you  believe  neither  in  God  nor 
Devil." 

"  I  consider  It  beneath  my  dignity  to  talk  to  a 
man  like  you,"  said  Father  Michael,  very  much 
hurt  by  Smokovnikov's  last  words,  the  more  so 
because  he  knew  they  were  true. 

Michael  Vedensky  carried  on  his  studies  in  the 


98  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

academy  for  priests,  and  that  is  why,  for  a  long 
time  past,  he  ceased  to  believe  In  what  he  con- 
fessed to  be  his  creed  and  In  what  he  preached 
from  the  pulpit;  he  only  knew  that  men  ought  to 
force  themselves  to  believe  in  what  he  tried  to 
make  himself  believe. 

Smokovnikov  was  not  shocked  by  Father  Mi- 
chael's conduct;  he  only  thought  It  Illustrative  of 
the  Influence  the  Church  was  beginning  to  exercise 
on  society,  and  he  told  all  his  friends  how  his  son 
had  been  Insulted  by  the  priest. 

Seeing  not  only  young  minds,  but  also  the  elder 
generation,  contaminated  by  atheistic  tendencies, 
Father  Michael  became  more  and  more  convinced 
of  the  necessity  of  fighting  those  tendencies.  The 
more  he  condemned  the  unbelief  of  Smokovnikov, 
and  those  like  him,  the  more  confident  he  grew 
in  the  firmness  of  his  own  faith,  and  the  less  he 
felt  the  need  of  making  sure  of  It,  or  of  bringing 
his  life  Into  harmony  with  it.  His  faith,  acknowl- 
edged as  such  by  all  the  world  around  him,  be- 
came Father  Michael's  very  best  weapon  with 
which  to  fight  those  who  denied  it. 

The  thoughts  aroused  In  him  by  his  conflict 
with  Smokovnikov,  together  with  the  annoyance 
of  being  blamed  by  his  chiefs  In  the  school,  made 
him  carry  out  the  purpose  he  had  entertained  ever 
since  his  wife's  death  —  of  taking  monastic  orders, 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  99 

and  of  following  the  course  carried  out  by  some 
of  his  fellow-pupils  In  the  academy.  One  of  them 
was  already  a  bishop,  another  an  archimandrite 
and  on  the  way  to  become  a  bishop. 

At  the  end  of  the  term  Michael  Vedensky  gave 
up  his  post  In  the  school,  took  orders  under  the 
name  of  MIssael,  and  very  soon  got  a  post  as 
rector  In  a  seminary  in  a  town  on  the  river  Volga. 


XIII 

Meanwhile  the  yard-porter  Vassily  was  march- 
ing on  the  open  road  down  to  the  south. 

He  walked  In  daytime,  and  when  night  came 
some  policeman  would  get  him  shelter  in  a  peas- 
ant's cottage.  He  was  given  bread  everywhere, 
and  sometimes  he  was  asked  to  sit  down  to  the 
evening  meal.  In  a  village  in  the  Orel  district, 
where  he  had  stayed  for  the  night,  he  heard  that 
a  merchant  who  had  hired  the  landowner's  or- 
chard for  the  season,  was  looking  out  for  strong 
and  able  men  to  serve  as  watchmen  for  the  fruit- 
crops.  Vassily  was  tired  of  tramping,  and  as  he 
had  also  no  desire  whatever  to  go  back  to  his 
native  village,  he  went  to  the  man  who  owned  the 
orchard,  and  got  engaged  as  watchman  for  Hvq 
roubles  a  month. 

Vassily  found  it  very  agreeable  to  live  in  his 


loo  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

orchard  shed,  and  all  the  more  so  when  the  apples 
and  pears  began  to  grow  ripe,  and  when  the  men 
from  the  barn  supplied  him  every  day  with  large 
bundles  of  fresh  straw  from  the  threshing  ma- 
chine. He  used  to  He  the  whole  day  long  on 
the  fragrant  straw,  with  fresh,  delicately  smell- 
ing apples  In  heaps  at  his  side,  looking  out  in 
every  direction  to  prevent  the  village  boys  from 
stealing  fruit;  and  he  used  to  whistle  and  sing 
meanwhile,  to  amuse  himself.  He  knew  no  end 
of  songs,  and  had  a  fine  voice.  When  peasant 
women  and  young  girls  came  to  ask  for  apples, 
and  to  have  a  chat  with  him,  Vasslly  gave  them 
larger  or  smaller  apples  according  as  he  liked 
their  looks,  and  received  eggs  or  money  in  re- 
turn. The  rest  of  the  time  he  had  nothing  to  do, 
but  to  He  on  his  back  and  get  up  for  his  meals  in 
the  kitchen.  He  had  only  one  shirt  left,  one  of 
pink  cotton,  and  that  was  in  holes.  But  he  was 
strongly  built  and  enjoyed  excellent  health. 
When  the  kettle  with  black  gruel  was  taken  from 
the  stove  and  served  to  the  working  men,  Vasslly 
used  to  eat  enough  for  three,  and  filled  the  old 
watchman  on  the  estate  with  unceasing  wonder. 
At  nights  Vasslly  never  slept.  He  whistled  or 
shouted  from  time  to  time  to  keep  off  thieves,  and 
his  piercing,  cat-like  eyes  saw  clearly  in  the  dark- 
ness. 


THE  FORGED*  COUPON  lot 

One  night  a  company  of  young  lads  from  the 
village  made  their  way  stealthily  to  the  orchard 
to  shake  down  apples  from  the  trees.  VassUy, 
coming  noiselessly  from  behind,  attacked  them; 
they  tried  to  escape,  but  he  took  one  of  them 
prisoner  to  his  master. 

Vasslly's  first  shed  stood  at  the  farthest  end  of 
the  orchard,  but  after  the  pears  had  been  picked 
he  had  to  remove  to  another  shed  only  forty  paces 
away  from  the  house  of  his  master.  He  liked 
this  new  place  very  much.  The  whole  day  long 
he  could  see  the  young  ladles  and  gentlemen  en- 
joying themselves;  going  out  for  drives  in  the 
evenings  and  quite  late  at  nights,  playing  the  piano 
or  the  violin,  and  singing  and  dancing.  He  saw 
the  ladles  sitting  with  the  young  students  on  the 
window  sills,  engaged  In  animated  conversation, 
and  then  going  In  pairs  to  walk  the  dark  avenue 
of  lime  trees,  lit  up  only  by  streaks  of  moon- 
light. He  saw  the  servants  running  about  with 
food  and  drink,  he  saw  the  cooks,  the  stewards, 
the  laundresses,  the  gardeners,  the  coachmen,  hard 
at  work  to  supply  their  masters  with  food  and 
drink  and  constant  amusement.  Sometimes  the 
young  people  from  the  master's  house  came  to 
the  shed,  and  Vasslly  offered  them  the  choicest 
apples,  juicy  and  red.  The  young  ladies  used  to 
take  large  bites  out  of  the  apples  on  the  spot. 


102  '    '  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

praising  their  taste,  and  spoke  French  to  one  an- 
other —  Vassily  quite  understood  It  was  all  about 
him  —  and  asked  VassUy  to  sing  for  them. 

VassUy  felt  the  greatest  admiration  for  his 
master's  mode  of  living,  which  reminded  him  of 
what  he  had  seen  In  Moscow;  and  he  became  more 
and  more  convinced  that  the  only  thing  that  mat- 
tered In  life  was  money.  He  thought  and  thought 
how  to  get  hold  of  a  large  sum  of  money.  He 
remembered  his  former  ways  of  making  small 
profits  whenever  he  could,  and  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  that  was  altogether  wrong.  Occa- 
sional stealing  Is  of  no  use,  he  thought.  He  must 
arrange  a  well-prepared  plan,  and  after  getting 
all  the  Information  he  wanted,  carry  out  his  pur- 
pose so  as  to  avoid  detection. 

After  the  feast  of  Nativity  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin Mary,  the  last  crop  of  autumn  apples  was 
gathered;  the  master  was  content  with  the  results, 
paid  off  Vassily,  and  gave  him  an  extra  sum  as 
reward  for  his  faithful  service. 

Vassily  put  on  his  new  jacket,  and  a  new  hat 
—  both  were  presents  from  his  master's  son  — 
but  did  not  make  his  way  homewards.  He  hated 
the  very  thought  of  the  vulgar  peasants'  life.  He 
went  back  to  Moscow  in  company  of  some  drunken 
soldiers,  who  had  been  watchmen  in  the  orchard 
together  with  him.     On  his  arrival  there  he  at 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  103 

once  resolved,  under  cover  of  night,  to  break  into 
the  shop  where  he  had  been  employed,  and  beaten, 
and  then  turned  out  by  the  proprietor  v^ithout  be- 
ing paid.  He  knew  the  place  well,  and  knew 
where  the  money  was  locked  up.  So  he  bade  the 
soldiers,  who  helped  him,  keep  watch  outside,  and 
forcing  the  courtyard  door  entered  the  shop  and 
took  all  the  money  he  could  lay  his  hands  on. 
All  this  was  done  very  cleverly,  and  no  trace  was 
left  of  the  burglary.  The  money  VassUy  had 
found  In  the  shop  amounted  to  370  roubles.  He 
gave  a  hundred  roubles  to  his  assistants,  and  with 
the  rest  left  for  another  town  where  he  gave  way 
to  dissipation  In  company  of  friends  of  both  sexes. 
The  police  traced  his  movements,  and  when  at 
last  he  was  arrested  and  put  Into  prison  he  had 
hardly  anything  left  out  of  the  money  which  he 
had  stolen. 


XIV 

Ivan  Mironov  had  become  a  very  clever,  fear- 
less and  successful  horse-thief.  Afimla,  his  wife, 
who  at  first  used  to  abuse  him  for  his  evil  ways, 
as  she  called  It,  was  now  quite  content  and  felt 
proud  of  her  husband,  who  possessed  a  new  sheep- 
skin coat,  while  she  also  had  a  warm  jacket  and 
a  new  fur  cloak. 


104  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

In  the  village  and  throughout  the  whole  dis- 
trict every  one  knew  quite  well  that  Ivan  Mironov 
was  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  horse-stealing;  but 
nobody  would  give  him  away,  being  afraid  of  the 
consequences.  Whenever  suspicion  fell  on  him, 
he  managed  to  clear  his  character.  Once  during 
the  night  he  stole  horses  from  the  pasture  ground 
in  the  village  Kolotovka.  He  generally  preferred 
to  steal  horses  from  landowners  or  tradespeople. 
But  this  was  a  harder  job,  and  when  he  had  no 
chance  of  success  he  did  not  mind  robbing  peasants 
too.  In  Kolotovka  he  drove  off  the  horses  with- 
out making  sure  whose  they  were.  He  did  not 
go  himself  to  the  spot,  but  sent  a  young  and  clever 
fellow,  Gerassim,  to  do  the  stealing  for  him.  The 
peasants  only  got  to  know  of  the  theft  at  dawn; 
they  rushed  in  all  directions  to  hunt  for  the  rob- 
bers. The  horses,  meanwhile,  were  hidden  in  a 
ravine  In  the  forest  lands  belonging  to  the  state. 

Ivan  Mironov  Intended  to  leave  them  there  till 
the  following  night,  and  then  to  transport  them 
with  the  utmost  haste  a  hundred  miles  away  to  a 
man  he  knew.  He  visited  Gerassim  In  the  forest, 
to  see  how  he  was  getting  on,  brought  him  a  pie 
and  some  vodka,  and  was  returning  home  by  a 
side  track  In  the  forest  where  he  hoped  to  meet 
nobody.  But  by  Ill-luck,  he  chanced  on  the  keeper 
of  the  forest,  a  retired  soldier. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  105 

"I  say!  Have  you  been  looking  for  mush- 
rooms?" asked  the  soldier. 

*'  There  were  none  to  be  found,'*  answered 
Ivan  Mironov,  showing  the  basket  of  lime  bark 
he  had  taken  with  him  in  case  he  might  want  it. 

"  Yes,  mushrooms  are  scarce  this  summer,"  said 
the  soldier.  He  stood  still  for  a  moment,  pon- 
dered, and  then  went  his  way.  He  clearly  saw 
that  something  was  wrong.  Ivan  Mironov  had 
no  business  whatever  to  take  early  morning  walks 
in  that  forest.  The  soldier  went  back  after  a 
while  and  looked  round.  Suddenly  he  heard  the 
snorting  of  horses  in  the  ravine.  He  made  his 
way  cautiously  to  the  place  whence  the  sounds 
came.  The  grass  in  the  ravine  was  trodden 
down,  and  the  marks  of  horses'  hoofs  were  clearly 
to  be  seen.  A  little  further  he  saw  Gerassim, 
who  was  sitting  and  eating  his  meal,  and  the  horses 
tied  to  a  tree. 

The  soldier  ran  to  the  village  and  brought  back 
the  bailiff,  a  police  officer,  and  two  witnesses. 
They  surrounded  on  three  sides  the  spot  where 
Gerassim  was  sitting  and  seized  the  man.  He  did 
not  deny  anything;  but,  being  drunk,  told  them  at 
once  how  Ivan  Mironov  had  given  him  plenty  of 
drink,  and  induced  him  to  steal  the  horses;  he 
also  said  that  Ivan  Mironov  had  promised  to  come 
that  night  in  order  to  take  the  horses  away.     The 


io6  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

peasants  left  the  horses  and  Gerassim  In  the  ra- 
vine, and  hiding  behind  the  trees  prepared  to  lie  in 
ambush  for  Ivan  Mironov.  When  it  grew  dark, 
they  heard  a  whistle.  Gerassim  answered  it  with 
a  similar  sound.  The  moment  Ivan  Mironov  de- 
scended the  slope,  the  peasants  surrounded  him 
and  brought  him  back  to  the  village.  The  next 
morning  a  crowd  assembled  in  front  of  the  bailiff's 
cottage.  Ivan  Mironov  was  brought  out  and  sub- 
jected to  a  close  examination.  Stepan  Pelageush- 
klne,  a  tall,  stooping  man  with  long  arms,  an 
aquiline  nose,  and  a  gloomy  face  was  the  first  to 
put  questions  to  him.  Stepan  had  terminated  his 
military  service,  and  was  of  a  solitary  turn  of 
mind.  When  he  had  separated  from  his  father, 
and  started  his  own  home,  he  had  his  first  experi- 
ence of  losing  a  horse.  After  that  he  worked  for 
two  years  in  the  mines,  and  made  money  enough 
to  buy  two  horses.  These  two  had  been  stolen  by 
Ivan  Mironov. 

"  Tell  me  where  my  horses  are  I "  shouted 
Stepan,  pale  with  fury,  alternately  looking  at  the 
ground  and  at  Ivan  Mironov's  face. 

Ivan  Mironov  denied  his  guilt.  Then  Stepan 
aimed  so  violent  a  blow  at  his  face  that  he 
smashed  his  nose  and  the  blood  spurted  out. 

"  Tell  the  truth,  I  say,  or  I'll  kill  you !  '* 

Ivan  Mironov  kept  silent,  trying  to  avoid  the 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  107 

blows  by  stooping.  Stepan  hit  him  twice  more 
with  his  long  arm.  Ivan  MIronov  remained 
silent,  turning  his  head  backwards  and  forwards. 

"  Beat  him,  all  of  you !  "  cried  the  bailiff,  and 
the  whole  crowd  rushed  upon  Ivan  MIronov.  He 
fell  without  a  word  to  the  ground,  and  then 
shouted, — 

"  Devils,  wild  beasts,  kill  me  If  that^s  what  you 
want!     I  am  not  afraid  of  you!  " 

Stepan  seized  a  stone  out  of  those  that  had  been 
collected  for  the  purpose,  and  with  a  heavy  blow 
smashed  Ivan  MIronov's  head. 


XV 

Ivan  Mironov's  murderers  were  brought  to 
trial,  Stepan  Pelageushklne  among  them.  He  had 
a  heavier  charge  to  answer  than  the  others,  all 
the  witnesses  having  stated  that  It  was  he  who 
had  smashed  Ivan  Mironov's  head  with  a  stone. 
Stepan  concealed  nothing  when  In  court.  He  con- 
tented himself  with  explaining  that,  having  been 
robbed  of  his  two  last  horses,  he  had  Informed  the 
police.  Now  It  was  comparatively  easy  at  that 
time  to  trace  the  horses  with  the  help  of  profes- 
sional thieves  among  the  gipsies.  But  the  police 
officer  would  not  even  permit  him,  and  no  search 
had  been  ordered. 


io8  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"  Nothing  else  could  be  done  with  such  a  man. 
He  has  ruined  us  all." 

"  But  why  did  not  the  others  attack  him.  It 
was  you  alone  who  broke  his  head  open." 

"  That  is  false.  We  all  fell  upon  him.  The 
village  agreed  to  kill  him.  I  only  gave  the  final 
stroke.  What  is  the  use  of  inflicting  unnecessary 
sufferings  on  a  man?  " 

The  judges  were  astonished  at  Stepan's  wonder- 
ful coolness  in  narrating  the  story  of  his  crime  — 
how  the  peasants  fell  upon  Ivan  Mironov,  and 
how  he  had  given  the  final  stroke.  Stepan  act- 
ually did  not  see  anything  particularly  revolting  in 
this  murder.  During  his  military  service  he  had 
been  ordered  on  one  occasion  to  shoot  a  soldier, 
and,  now  with  regard  to  Ivan  Mironov,  he  saw 
nothing  loathsome  in  it.  **  A  man  shot  is  a  dead 
man  —  that's  all.  It  was  him  to-day,  it  might  be 
me  to-morrow,"  he  thought.  Stepan  was  only 
sentenced  to  one  year's  imprisonment,  which  was 
a  mild  punishment  for  what  he  had  done.  His 
peasant's  dress  was  taken  away  from  him  and  put 
in  the  prison  stores,  and  he  had  a  prison  suit  and 
felt  boots  given  to  him  instead.  Stepan  had  never 
had  much  respect  for  the  authorities,  but  now  he 
became  quite  convinced  that  all  the  chiefs,  all  the 
fine  folk,  all  except  the  Czar  —  who  alone  had  pity 
on  the  peasants  and  was  just  —  all  were  robbers 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  109 

who  suck  blood  out  of  the  people.  All  he  heard 
from  the  deported  convicts,  and  those  sentenced  to 
hard  labour,  with  whom  he  had  made  friends  in 
prisons,  confirmed  him  in  his  views.  One  man 
had  been  sentenced  to  hard  labour  for  having  con- 
victed his  superiors  of  a  theft;  another  for  having 
struck  an  official  who  had  unjustly  confiscated  the 
property  of  a  peasant;  a  third  because  he  forged 
bank  notes.  The  well-to-do-people,  the  mer- 
chants, might  do  whatever  they  chose  and  come 
to  no  harm;  but  a  poor  peasant,  for  a  trumpery 
reason  or  for  none  at  all,  was  sent  to  prison  to 
become  food  for  vermin. 

He  had  visits  from  his  wife  while  in  prison. 
Her  life  without  him  was  miserable  enough,  when, 
to  make  it  worse,  her  cottage  was  destroyed  by 
fire.  She  was  completely  ruined,  and  had  to  take 
to  begging  with  her  children.  His  wife's  misery 
embittered  Stepan  still  more.  He  got  on  very 
badly  with  all  the  people  In  the  prison;  was  rude 
to  every  one ;  and  one  day  he  nearly  killed  the  cook 
with  an  axe,  and  therefore  got  an  additional  year 
in  prison.  In  the  course  of  that  year  he  received 
the  news  that  his  wife  was  dead,  and  that  he  had 
no  longer  a  home. 

When  Stepan  had  finished  his  time  in  prison, 
he  was  taken  to  the  prison  stores,  and  his  own 


no  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

dress  was  taken  down  from  the  shelf  and  handed 
to  him. 

"  Where  am  I  to  go  now?  "  he  asked  the  prison 
officer,  putting  on  his  old  dress. 

"  Why,  home." 

"  I  have  no  home.  I  shall  have  to  go  on  the 
road.  Robbery  will  not  be  a  pleasant  occupa- 
tion." 

"  In  that  case  you  will  soon  be  back  here." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that." 

And  Stepan  left  the  prison.  Nevertheless  he 
took  the  road  to  his  own  place.  He  had  nowhere 
else  to  turn. 

On  his  way  he  stopped  for  a  night's  rest  in  an 
inn  that  had  a  public  bar  attached  to  it.  The  inn 
was  kept  by  a  fat  man  from  the  town,  Vladimir, 
and  he  knew  Stepan.  He  knew  that  Stepan  had 
been  put  into  prison  through  ill  luck,  and  did  not 
mind  giving  him  shelter  for  the  night.  He  was 
a  rich  man,  and  had  persuaded  his  neighbour's 
wife  to  leave  her  husband  and  come  to  live  with 
him.  She  lived  in  his  house  as  his  wife,  and 
helped  him  in  his  business  as  well. 

Stepan  knew  all  about  the  innkeeper's  affairs  — 
how  he  had  wronged  the  peasant,  and  how  the 
woman  who  was  living  with  him  had  left  her  hus- 
band. He  saw  her  now  sitting  at  the  table  in  a 
rich  dress,  and  looking  very  hot  as  she  drank  her 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  iii 

tea.  With  great  condescension  she  asked  Stepan 
to  have  tea  with  her.  No  other  travellers  were 
stopping  In  the  Inn  that  night.  Stepan  was  given 
a  place  In  the  kitchen  where  he  might  sleep.  Ma- 
trena  —  that  was  the  woman's  name  —  cleared  the 
table  and  went  to  her  room.  Stepan  went  to  He 
down  on  the  large  stove  In  the  kitchen,  but  he 
could  not  sleep,  and  the  wood  splinters  put  on  the 
stove  to  dry  were  crackling  under  him,  as  he  tossed 
from  side  to  side.  He  could  not  help  thinking  of 
his  host's  fat  paunch  protruding  under  the  belt 
of  his  shirt,  which  had  lost  Its  colour  from  having 
been  washed  ever  so  many  times.  Would  not  It 
be  a  good  thing  to  make  a  good  clean  Incision  In 
that  paunch.     And  that  woman,  too,  he  thought. 

One  moment  he  would  say  to  himself,  "  I  had 
better  go  from  here  to-morrow,  bother  them  all !  " 
But  then  again  Ivan  MIronov  came  back  to  his 
mind,  and  he  went  on  thinking  of  the  Innkeeper's 
paunch  and  Matrena's  white  throat  bathed  in  per- 
spiration.    "  Kill  I  must,  and  It  must  be  both !  " 

He  heard  the  cock  crow  for  the  second  time. 
"  I  must  do  It  at  once,  or  dawn  will  be  here.''  He 
had  seen  in  the  evening  before  he  went  to  bed  a 
knife  and  an  axe.  He  crawled  down  from  the 
stove,  took  the  knife  and  axe,  and  went  out  of 
the  kitchen  door.  At  that  very  moment  he  heard 
the  lock  of  the   entrance  door  open.     The  Inn- 


112  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

keeper  was  going  out  of  the  house  to  the  court- 
yard. It  all  turned  out  contrary  to  what  Stepan 
desired.  He  had  no  opportunity  of  using  the 
knife ;  he  just  swung  the  axe  and  split  the  innkeep- 
er's head  in  two.  The  man  tumbled  down  on  the 
threshold  of  the  door,  then  on  the  ground. 

Stepan  stepped  into  the  bedroom.  Matrena 
jumped  out  of  bed,  and  remained  standing  by  its 
side.     With  the  same  axe  Stepan  killed  her  also. 

Then  he  lighted  the  candle,  took  the  money  out 
of  the  desk,  and  left  the  house. 

XVI 

In  a  small  district  town,  some  distance  away  from 
the  other  buildings,  an  old  man,  a  former  official, 
who  had  taken  to  drink,  lived  in  his  own  house 
with  his  two  daughters  and  his  son-in-law.  The 
married  daughter  was  also  addicted  to  drink  and 
led  a  bad  life,  and  it  was  the  elder  daughter,  the 
widow  Maria  Semenovna,  a  wrinkled  woman  of 
fifty,  who  supported  the  whole  family.  She  had 
a  pension  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  roubles  a  year, 
and  the  family  lived  on  this.  Maria  Semenovna 
did  all  the  work  in  the  house,  looked  after  the 
drunken  old  father,  who  was  very  weak,  attended 
to  her  sister's  child,  and  managed  all  the  cooking 
and  the  washing  of  the  family.     And,  as  is  al- 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  113 

ways  the  case,  whatever  there  was  to  do,  she  was 
expected  to  do  it,  and  was,  moreover,  continually- 
scolded  by  all  the  three  people  in  the  house;  her 
brother-in-law  used  even  to  beat  her  when  he  was 
drunk.  She  bore  it  all  patiently,  and  as  is  also 
always  the  case,  the  more  work  she  had  to  face, 
the  quicker  she  managed  to  get  through  It.  She 
helped  the  poor,  sacrificing  her  own  wants;  she 
gave  them  her  clothes,  and  was  a  ministering 
angel  to  the  sick. 

Once  the  lame,  crippled  village  tailor  was  work- 
ing in  Maria  Semenovna's  house.  He  had  to 
mend  her  old  father's  coat,  and  to  mend  and  re- 
pair Maria  Semenovna's  fur-jacket  for  her  to  wear 
in  winter  when  she  went  to  market. 

The  lame  tailor  was  a  clever  man,  and  a  keen 
observer:  he  had  seen  many  different  people  ow- 
ing to  his  profession,  and  was  fond  of  reflection, 
condemned  as  he  was  to  a  sedentary  life. 

Having  worked  a  week  at  Maria  Semenovna's, 
he  wondered  greatly  about  her  life.  One  day  she 
came  to  the  kitchen,  where  he  was  sitting  with  his 
work,  to  wash  a  towel,  and  began  to  ask  him  how 
he  was  getting  on.  He  told  her  of  the  wrong  he 
had  suffered  from  his  brother,  and  how  he  now 
lived  on  his  own  allotment  of  land,  separated  from 
that  of  his  brother. 

"  I  thought  I  should  have  been  better  off  that 


114  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

way,"  he  said.  **  But  I  am  now  just  as  poor  as 
before." 

"  It  Is  much  better  never  to  change,  but  to  take 
life  as  It  comes,"  said  Maria  Semenovna.  "  Take 
life  as  It  comes,"  she  repeated. 

"  Why,  I  wonder  at  you,  Maria  Semenovna," 
said  the  lame  tailor.  "  You  alone  do  the  work, 
and  you  are  so  good  to  everybody.  But  they 
don't  repay  you  In  kind,  I  see." 

Maria  Semenovna  did  not  utter  a  word  In  an- 
swer. 

**  I  dare  say  you  have  found  out  In  books  that 
we  are  rewarded  In  heaven  for  the  good  we  do 
here." 

"  We  don't  know  that  But  we  must  try  to  do 
the  best  we  can." 

"  Is  it  said  so  In  books?  " 

"  In  books  as  well,"  she  said,  and  read  to  him 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  The  tailor  was  much 
Impressed.  When  he  had  been  paid  for  his  job 
and  gone  home,  he  did  not  cease  to  think  about 
Maria  Semenovna,  both  what  she  had  said  and 
what  she  had  read  to  him. 

XVII 

Peter  Nikolaevich  Sventizky's  views  of  the 
peasantry  had  now  changed  for  the  worse,  and  the 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  115 

peasants  had  an  equally  bad  opinion  of  him.  In 
the  course  of  a  single  year  they  felled  twenty-seven 
oaks  In  his  forest,  and  burnt  a  barn  which  had  not 
been  Insured.  Peter  NIkolaevIch  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  there  was  no  getting  on  with  the 
people  around  him. 

At  that  very  time  the  landowner,  LIventsov, 
was  trying  to  find  a  manager  for  his  estate,  and 
the  Marshal  of  the  Nobility  recommended  Peter 
NIkolaevIch  as  the  ablest  man  in  the  district  In 
the  management  of  land.  The  estate  owned  by 
LIventsov  was  an  extremely  large  one,  but  there 
was  no  revenue  to  be  got  out  of  It,  as  the  peasants 
appropriated  all  Its  wealth  to  their  own  profit. 
Peter  NIkolaevIch  undertook  to  bring  everything 
Into  order;  rented  out  his  own  land  to  somebody 
else;  and  settled  with  his  wife  on  the  LIventsov 
estate.  In  a  distant  province  on  the  river  Volga. 

Peter  NIkolaevIch  was  always  fond  of  order, 
and  wanted  things  to  be  regulated  by  law;  and 
now  he  felt  less  able  of  allowing  those  raw  and 
rude  peasants  to  take  possession,  quite  illegally 
too,  of  property  that  did  not  belong  to  them.  He 
was  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  giving  them  a  good 
lesson,  and  set  seriously  to  work  at  once.  One 
peasant  was  sent  to  prison  for  stealing  wood;  to 
another  he  gave  a  thrashing  for  not  having  made 
way  for  him  on  the  road  with  his  cart,  and  for  not 


ii6  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

having  lifted  his  cap  to  salute  him.  As  to  the 
pasture  ground  which  was  a  subject  of  dispute, 
and  was  considered  by  the  peasants  as  their  prop- 
erty, Peter  Nikolaevich  informed  the  peasants 
that  any  of  their  cattle  grazing  on  it  would  be 
driven  away  by  him. 

The  spring  came  and  the  peasants,  just  as  they 
had  done  in  previous  years,  drove  their  cattle  on 
to  the  meadows  belonging  to  the  landowner. 
Peter  Nikolaevich  called  some  of  the  men  work- 
ing on  the  estate  and  ordered  them  to  drive  the 
cattle  into  his  yard.  The  peasants  were  working 
in  the  fields,  and,  disregarding  the  screaming  of 
the  women,  Peter  Nikolaevich's  men  succeeded  in 
driving  in  the  cattle.  When  they  came  home  the 
peasants  went  in  a  crowd  to  the  cattle-yard  on  the 
estate,  and  asked  for  their  cattle.  Peter  Nikolae- 
vich came  out  to  talk  to  them  with  a  gun  slung  on 
his  shoulder;  he  had  just  returned  from  a  ride  of 
inspection.  He  told  them  that  he  would  not  let 
them  have  their  cattle  unless  they  paid  a  fine  of 
fifty  kopeks  for  each  of  the  horned  cattle,  and 
twenty  kopeks  for  each  sheep.  The  peasants 
loudly  declared  that  the  pasture  ground  was  their 
property,  because  their  fathers  and  grandfathers 
had  used  it,  and  protested  that  he  had  no  right 
whatever  to  lay  hand  on  their  cattle. 

"  Give  back  our  cattle,  or  you  will  regret  it," 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  117 

said  an  old  man  coming  up  to  Peter  Nikolaevich. 

''How  shall  I  regret  it?"  cried  Peter  Niko- 
laevich, turning  pale,  and  coming  close  to  the  old 
man. 

"  Give  them  back,  you  villain,  and  don't  pro- 
voke us." 

"  What?  "  cried  Peter  Nikolaevich,  and  slapped 
the  old  man  in  the  face. 

"You  dare  to  strike  me?  Come  along,  you 
fellows,  let  us  take  back  our  cattle  by  force." 

The  crowd  drew  close  to  him.  Peter  Niko- 
laevich tried  to  push  his  way  through  them,  but 
the  peasants  resisted  him.     Again  he  tried  force. 

His  gun,  accidentally  discharged  in  the  melee, 
killed  one  of  the  peasants.  Instantly  the  fight 
began.  Peter  Nikolaevich  was  trodden  down, 
and  five  minutes  later  his  mutilated  body  was 
dragged  Into  the  ravine. 

The  murderers  were  tried  by  martial  law,  and 
two  of  them  sentenced  to  the  gallows. 

XVIII 

In  the  village  where  the  lame  tailor  lived.  In  the 
Zemliansk  district  of  the  Voronesh  province,  five 
rich  peasants  hired  from  the  landowner  a  hundred 
and  five  acres  of  rich  arable  land,  black  as  tar,  and 
let  it  out  on  lease  to  the  rest  of  the  peasants  at 


ii8  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

fifteen  to  eighteen  roubles  an  acre.  Not  one  acre 
was  given  under  twelve  roubles.  They  got  a  very 
profitable  return,  and  the  five  acres  which  were 
left  to  each  of  their  company  practically  cost  them 
nothing.  One  of  the  ^vc  peasants  died,  and  the 
lame  tailor  received  an  offer  to  take  his  place. 

When  they  began  to  divide  the  land,  the  tailor 
gave  up  drinking  vodka,  and,  being  consulted  as 
to  how  much  land  was  to  be  divided,  and  to  whom 
It  should  Be  given,  he  proposed  to  give  allotments 
to  all  on  equal  terms,  not  taking  from  the  tenants 
more  than  was  due  for  each  piece  of  land  out  of 
the  sum  paid  to  the  landowner. 

"Why  so?" 

"  We  are  no  heathens,  I  should  think,"  he  said. 
"  It  Is  all  very  well  for  the  masters  to  be  unfair, 
but  we  are  true  Christians:  We  must  do  as  God 
bids.     Such  Is  the  law  of  Christ." 

"  Where  have  you  got  that  law  from?  " 

"  It  is  In  the  Book,  In  the  Gospels.  Just  come 
to  me  on  Sunday.  I  will  read  you  a  few  passages, 
and  we  will  have  a  talk  afterwards." 

They  did  not  all  come  to  him  on  Sunday,  but 
three  came,  and  he  began  reading  to  them. 

He  read  five  chapters  of  St.  Matthew's  Gospel, 
and  they  talked.  One  man  only,  Ivan  Chouev, 
accepted  the  lesson  and  carried  it  out  completely, 
following  the  rule  of  Christ  in  everything  from 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  119 

that  day.  His  family  did  the  same.  Out  of  the 
arable  land  he  took  only  what  was  his  due,  and 
refused  to  take  more. 

The  lame  tailor  and  Ivan  had  people  calling  on 
them,  and  some  of  these  people  began  to  grasp 
the  meaning  of  the  Gospels,  and  in  consequence 
gave  up  smoking,  drinking,  swearing,  and  using 
bad  language  and  tried  to  help  one  another. 
They  also  ceased  to  go  to  church,  and  took  their 
ikons  to  the  village  priest,  saying  they  did  not 
want  them  any  more.  The  priest  was  frightened, 
and  reported  what  had  occurred  to  the  bishop. 
The  bishop  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  At  last 
he  resolved  to  send  the  archimandrite  MIssael  to 
the  village,  the  one  who  had  formerly  been  Mitia 
Smokovnikov's  teacher  of  religion. 

XIX 

Asking  Father  MIssael  on  his  arrival  to  take  a 
seat,  the  bishop  told  him  what  had  happened  in 
his  diocese. 

"  It  all  comes  from  weakness  of  spirit  and  from 
Ignorance.  You  are  a  learned  man,  and  I  rely  on 
you.  Go  to  the  village,  call  the  parishioners  to- 
gether, and  convince  them  of  their  error.'* 

"  If  your  Grace  bids  me  go,  and  you  give  me 
your  blessing,  I  will  do  my  best,"  said  Father 


I20  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

Missael.  He  was  very  pleased  with  the  task  en- 
trusted to  him.  Every  opportunity  he  could  find 
to  demonstrate  the  firmness  of  his  faith  was  a 
boon  to  him.  In  trying  to  convince  others  he  was 
chiefly  intent  on  persuading  himself  that  he  was 
really  a  firm  believer. 

"  Do  your  best.  I  am  greatly  distressed  about 
my  flock,"  said  the  bishop,  leisurely  taking  a  cup 
with  his  white  plump  hands  from  the  servant  who 
brought  in  the  tea. 

"Why  is  there  only  one  kind  of  jam?  Bring 
another,"  he  said  to  the  servant.  "  I  am  greatly 
distressed,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  Father  Mis- 
sael. 

Missael  earnestly  desired  to  prove  his  zeal; 
but,  being  a  man  of  small  means,  he  asked  to  be 
paid  for  the  expenses  of  his  journey;  and  being 
afraid  of  the  rough  people  who  might  be  ill-dis- 
posed towards  him,  he  also  asked  the  bishop  to  get 
him  an  order  from  the  governor  of  the  province, 
so  that  the  local  police  might  help  him  In  case  of 
need.  The  bishop  complied  with  his  wishes,  and 
Missael  got  his  things  ready  with  the  help  of  his 
servant  and  his  cook.  They  furnished  him  with 
a  case  full  of  wine,  and  a  basket  with  the  victuals 
he  might  need  in  going  to  such  a  lonely  place. 
Fully  provided  with  all  he  wanted,  he  started  for 
the  village  to  which  he  was  commissioned.     He 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  121 

was  pleasantly  conscious  of  the  importance  of  his 
mission.  All  his  doubts  as  to  his  own  faith  passed 
away,  and  he  was  now  fully  convinced  of  its  real- 
ity.   ^ 

His  thoughts,  far  from  being  concerned  with 
the  real  foundation  of  his  creed  —  this  was  ac- 
cepted as  an  axiom  —  were  occupied  with  the  argu- 
ments used  against  the  forms  of  worship. 

XX 

The  village  priest  and  his  wife  received  Father 
Missael  with  great  honours,  and  the  next  day  after 
he  had  arrived  the  parishioners  were  invited  to 
assemble  in  the  church.  Missael  in  a  new  silk 
cassock,  with  a  large  cross  on  his  chest,  and  his 
long  hair  carefully  combed,  ascended  the  pulpit; 
the  priest  stood  at  his  side,  the  deacons  and  the 
choir  at  a  little  distance  behind  him,  and  the  side 
entrances  were  guarded  by  the  police.  The  dis- 
senters also  came  in  their  dirty  sheepskin  coats. 

After  the  service  Missael  delivered  a  sermon, 
admonishing  the  dissenters  to  return  to  the  bosom 
of  their  mother,  the  Church,  threatening  them 
with  the  torments  of  hell,  and  promising  full  for- 
giveness to  those  who  would  repent. 

The  dissenters  kept  silent  at  first.  Then,  be- 
ing asked  questions,  they  gave  answers.     To  the 


122  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

question  why  they  dissented,  they  said  that  their 
chief  reason  was  the  fact  that  the  Church  wor- 
shipped gods  made  of  wood,  which,  far  from  be- 
ing ordained,  were  condemned  by  the  Scriptures. 

When  asked  by  Missael  whether  they  actually 
considered  the  holy  ikons  to  be  mere  planks  of 
wood,  Chouev  answered, — 

"  Just  look  at  the  back  of  any  ikon  you  choose 
and  you  will  see  what  they  are  made  of." 

When  asked  why  they  turned  against  the  priests, 
their  answer  was  that  the  Scripture  says:  "  As  you 
have  received  it  without  fee,  so  you  must  give  it 
to  the  others;  whereas  the  priests  require  pay- 
ment for  the  grace  they  bestow  by  the  sacraments." 
To  all  attempts  which  Missael  made  to  oppose 
them  by  arguments  founded  on  Holy  Writ,  the 
tailor  and  Ivan  Chouev  gave  calm  but  very  firm 
answers,  contradicting  his  assertions  by  appeal  to 
the  Scriptures,  which  they  knew  uncommonly  well. 

Missael  got  angry  and  threatened  them  with 
persecution  by  the  authorities.  Their  answer 
was :  It  is  said,  I  have  been  persecuted  and  so  will 
you  be. 

The  discussion  came  to  nothing,  and  all  would 
have  ended  well  if  Missael  had  not  preached  the 
next  day  at  mass,  denouncing  the  wicked  seducers 
of  the  faithful  and  saying  that  they  deserved  the 
worst  punishment.     Coming  out  of  the  church,  the 


•      THE  FORGED  COUPON  123 

crowd  of  peasants  began  to  consult  whether  it 
would  not  be  well  to  give  the  infidels  a  good  lesson 
for  disturbing  the  minds  of  the  community.  The 
same  day,  just  when  MIssael  was  enjoying  some 
salmon  and  gangfish,  dining  at  the  village  priest's 
In  company  with  the  Inspector,  a  violent  brawl 
arose  In  the  village.  The  peasants  came  In  a 
crowd  to  Chouev's  cottage,  and  waited  for  the 
dissenters  to  come  out  In  order  to  give  them  a 
thrashing. 

The  dissenters  assembled  In  the  cottage  num- 
bered about  twenty  men  and  women.  MlssaePs 
sermon  and  the  attitude  of  the  orthodox  peasants, 
together  with  their  threats,  aroused  In  the  mind 
of  the  dissenters  angry  feelings,  to  which  they  had 
before  been  strangers.  It  was  near  evening,  the 
women  had  to  go  and  milk  the  cows,  and  the 
peasants  were  still  standing  and  waiting  at  the 
door. 

A  boy  who  stepped  out  of  the  door  was  beaten 
and  driven  back  Into  the  house.  The  people 
within  began  consulting  what  was  to  be  done,  and 
could  come  to  no  agreement.  The  tailor  said, 
**  We  must  bear  whatever  Is  done  to  us,  and  not 
resist."  Chouev  replied  that  If  they  decided  on 
that  course  they  would,  all  of  them,  be  beaten  to 
death.  In  consequence,  he  seized  a  poker  and 
went  out  of  the  house.     "Come!''  he  shouted, 


124  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"  let  us  follow  the  law  of  Moses  I  "  And,  falling 
upon  the  peasants,  he  knocked  out  one  man's  eye, 
and  in  the  meanwhile  all  those  who  had  been  in 
his  house  contrived  to  get  out  and  make  their  way 
home. 

Chouev  was  thrown  into  prison  and  charged 
with  sedition  and  blasphemy. 

XXI 

Two  years  previous  to  those  events  a  strong  and 
handsome  young  girl  of  an  eastern  type,  Katia 
Turchaninova,  came  from  the  Don  military  settle- 
ments to  St.  Petersburg  to  study  in  the  university 
college  for  women.  In  that  town  she  met  a  stu- 
dent, Turin,  the  son  of  a  district  governor  in  the 
Simbirsk  province,  and  fell  in  love  with  him.  But 
her  love  was  not  of  the  ordinary  type,  and  she 
had  no  desire  to  become  his  wife  and  the  mother 
of  his  children.  He  was  a  dear  comrade  to  her, 
and  their  chief  bond  of  union  was  a  feeling  of  re- 
volt they  had  in  common,  as  well  as  the  hatred 
they  bore,  not  only  to  the  existing  forms  of  gov- 
ernment, but  to  all  those  who  represented  that 
government.  They  had  also  in  common  the  sense 
that  they  both  excelled  their  enemies  in  culture, 
in  brains,  as  well  as  in  morals.  Katia  Turchan- 
inova was  a  gifted  girl,  possessed  of  a  good  mem- 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  125 

ory,  by  means  of  which  she  easily  mastered  the  lec- 
tures she  attended.  She  was  successful  In  her  ex- 
aminations, and,  apart  from  that,  read  all  the  new- 
est books.  She  was  certain  that  her  vocation  was 
not  to  bear  and  rear  children,  and  even  looked  on 
such  a  task  with  disgust  and  contempt.  She 
thought  herself  chosen  by  destiny  to  destroy  the 
present  government,  which  was  fettering  the  best 
abilities  of  the  nation,  and  to  reveal  to  the  people 
a  higher  standard  of  life,  inculcated  by  the  latest 
writers  of  other  countries.  She  was  handsome,  a 
little  inclined  to  stoutness:  she  had  a  good  com- 
plexion, shining  black  eyes,  abundant  black  hair. 
She  Inspired  the  men  she  knew  with  feelings  she 
neither  wished  nor  had  time  to  share,  busy  as  she 
was  with  propaganda  work,  which  consisted  chiefly 
in  mere  talking.  She  was  not  displeased,  how- 
ever, to  Inspire  these  feelings;  and,  without  dress- 
ing too  smartly,  did  not  neglect  her  appearance. 
She  liked  to  be  admired,  as  it  gave  her  opportuni- 
ties of  showing  how  little  she  prized  what  was 
valued  so  highly  by  other  women. 

In  her  views  concerning  the  method  of  fighting 
the  government  she  went  further  than  the  majority 
of  her  comrades,  and  than  her  friend  Turin;  all 
means,  she  taught,  were  justified  in  such  a  struggle, 
not  excluding  murder.  And  yet,  with  all  her  revo- 
lutionary Ideas,  Katia  Turchaninova  was  in  her 


126  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

soul  a  very  kind  girl,  ready  to  sacrifice  herself  for 
the  welfare  and  the  happiness  of  other  people, 
and  sincerely  pleased  when  she  could  do  a  kind- 
ness to  anybody,  a  child,  an  old  person,  or  an  ani- 
mal. 

She  went  in  the  summer  to  stay  with  a  friend,  a 
schoolmistress  in  a  small  town  on  the  river  Volga. 
Turin  lived  near  that  town,  on  his  father's  estate. 
He  often  came  to  see  the  two  girls;  they  gave  each 
other  books  to  read,  and  had  long  discussions, 
expressing  their  common  indignation  with  the  state 
of  affairs  in  the  country.  The  district  doctor,  a 
friend  of  theirs,  used  also  to  join  them  on  many  oc-. 
casions. 

The  estate  of  the  Turins  was  situated  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Liventsov  estate,  the  one 
that  was  entrusted  to  the  management  of  Peter 
Nikolaevich  Sventizky.  Soon  after  Peter  Niko- 
laevich  had  settled  there,  and  begun  to  en- 
force order,  young  Turin,  having  observed  an  in- 
dependent tendency  in  the  peasants  on  the  Livent- 
sov estate,  as  well  as  their  determination  to  up- 
hold their  rights,  became  interested  in  them.  He 
came  often  to  the  village  to  talk  with  the  men, 
and  developed  his  socialistic  theories,  insisting  par- 
ticularly on  the  nationalisation  of  the  land. 

After  Peter  Nikolaevich  had  been  murdered, 
and  the  murderers  sent  to  trial,  the  revolutionary 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  127 

group  of  the  small  town  boiled  over  with  indigna- 
tion, and  did  not  shrink  from  openly  expressing 
It.  The  fact  of  Turin's  visits  to  the  village  and 
his  propaganda  work  among  the  students,  became 
known  to  the  authorities  during  the  trial.  A 
search  was  made  In  his  house;  and,  as  the  police 
found  a  few  revolutionary  leaflets  among  his  ef- 
fects, he  was  arrested  and  transferred  to  prisoa 
in  St.  Petersburg. 

Katia  Turchaninova  followed  him  to  the  metrop- 
olis, and  went  to  visit  him  in  prison.  She  was 
not  admitted  on  the  day  she  came,  and  was  told 
to  come  on  the  day  fixed  by  regulations  for  visits 
to  the  prisoners.  When  that  day  arrived,  and 
she  was  finally  allowed  to  see  him,  she  had  to  talk 
to  him  through  two  gratings  separating  the  pris- 
oner from  his  visitor.  This  visit  increased  her  in- 
dignation against  the  authorities.  And  her  feel- 
ings become  all  the  more  revolutionary  after  a 
visit  she  paid  to  the  office  of  a  gendarme  officer 
who  had  to  deal  with  the  Turin  case.  The  offi- 
cer, a  handsome  man,  seemed  obviously  disposed 
to  grant  her  exceptional  favours  in  visiting  the 
prisoner,  if  she  would  allow  him  to  make  love  to 
her.  Disgusted  with  him,  she  appealed  to  the 
chief  of  police.  He  pretended  —  just  as  the  officer 
did  when  talking  officially  to  her  —  to  be  power- 
less himself,  and  to  depend  entirely  on  orders 


128  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

coming  from  the  minister  of  state.  She  sent  a 
petition  to  the  minister  asking  for  an  interview, 
which  was  refused. 

Then  she  resolved  to  do  a  desperate  thing  and 
bought  a  revolver. 


XXII 

The  minister  was  receiving  petitioners  at  the  usual 
hour  appointed  for  the  reception.  He  had  talked 
successively  to  three  of  them,  and  now  a  pretty 
young  woman  with  black  eyes,  who  was  holding 
a  petition  in  her  left  hand,  approached.  The 
minister's  eyes  gleamed  when  he  saw  how  attract- 
ive the  petitioner  was,  but  recollecting  his  high  po- 
sition he  put  on  a  serious  face. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  he  asked,  coming  down 
to  where  she  stood.  Without  answering  his  ques- 
tion the  young  woman  quickly  drew  a  revolver 
from  under  her  cloak  and  aiming  It  at  the  min- 
ister's chest  fired  —  but  missed  him. 

The  minister  rushed  at  her,  trying  to  seize  her 
hand,  but  she  escaped,  and  taking  a  step  back,  fired 
a  second  time.  The  minister  ran  out  of  the  room. 
The  woman  was  immediately  seized.  She  was 
trembling  violently,  and  could  not  utter  a  single 
word ;  after  a  while  she  suddenly  burst  into  a  hys- 


.     THE  FORGED  COUPON  129 

terlcal  laugh.  The  minister  was  not  even 
wounded. 

That  woman  was  Katia  Turchaninova.  She 
was  put  into  the  prison  of  preliminary  detention. 
The  minister  received  congratulations  and  marks 
of  sympathy  from  the  highest  quarters,  and  even 
from  the  emperor  himself,  who  appointed  a  com- 
mission to  investigate  the  plot  that  had  led  to  the 
attempted  assassination.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
there  was  no  plot  whatever,  but  the  police  officials 
and  the  detectives  set  to  work  with  the  utmost  zeal 
to  discover  all  the  threads  of  the  non-existing  con- 
spiracy. They  did  everything  to  deserve  the  fees 
they  were  paid;  they  got  up  in  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning,  searched  one  house  after  another, 
took  copies  of  papers  and  of  books  they  found, 
read  diaries,  personal  letters,  made  extracts  from 
them  on  the  very  best  notepaper  and  in  beautiful 
handwriting,  interrogated  Katia  Turchaninova 
ever  so  many  times,  and  confronted  her  with  all 
those  whom  they  suspected  of  conspiracy,  in  order 
to  extort  from  her  the  names  of  her  accomplices. 

The  minister,  a  good-natured  man  at  heart,  was 
sincerely  sorry  for  the  pretty  girl.  But  he  said 
to  himself  that  he  was  bound  to  consider  his  high 
state  duties  imposed  upon  him,  even  though  they 
did  not  imply  much  work  and  trouble.  So,  when 
his  former  colleague,  a  chamberlain  and  a  friend 


130  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

of  the  Turins,  met  him  at  a  court  ball  and  tried  to 
rouse  his  pity  for  Turin  and  the  girl  Turchanl- 
nova,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  stretching  the  red 
ribbon  on  his  white  waistcoat,  and  said:  "7^  ne 
demanderais  pas  mieux  que  de  relacher  cette  pau- 
vre  fillette,  mats  vous  savez  le  devoir J^  And  in 
the  meantime  Katia  Turchanlnova  was  kept  in 
prison.  She  was  at  times  in  a  quiet  mood,  com- 
municated with  her  fellow-prisoners  by  knocking 
on  the  walls,  and  read  the  books  that  were  sent 
to  her.  But  then  came  days  when  she  had  fits  of 
desperate  fury,  knocking  with  her  fists  against 
the  wall,  screaming  and  laughing  like  a  mad- 
woman. 

XXIII 

One  day  Maria  Semenovna  came  home  from  the 
treasurer's  office,  where  she  had  received  Tier  pen- 
sion. On  her  way  she  met  a  schoolmaster,  a 
friend  of  hers. 

"  Good  day,  Maria  Semenovna !  Have  you  re- 
ceived your  money?"  the  schoolmaster  asked,  in 
a  loud  voice  from  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

"  I  have,"  answered  Maria  Semenovna.  "  But 
it  was  not  much ;  just  enough  to  fill  the  holes." 

"  Oh,  there  must  be  some  tidy  pickings  out 
of  such  a  lot  of  money,"  said  the  schoolmaster, 
and  passed  on,  after  having  said  good-bye. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  131 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Maria  Semenovna.  While 
she  was  looking  at  her  friend,  she  met  a  tall  man 
face  to  face,  who  had  very  long  arms  and  a  stern 
look  in  his  eyes.  Coming  to  her  house,  she  was 
very  startled  on  again  seeing  the  same  man  with 
the  long  arms,  who  had  evidently  followed  her. 
He  remained  standing  another  moment  after  she 
had  gone  in,  then  turned  and  walked  away. 

Maria  Semenovna  felt  somewhat  frightened  at 
first.  But  when  she  had  entered  the  house,  and 
had  given  her  father  and  her  nephew  Fedia  the 
presents  she  had  brought  for  them,  and  she  had 
patted  the  dog  Treasure,  who  whined  with  joy, 
she  forgot  her  fears.  She  gave  the  money  to  her 
father  and  began  to  work,  as  there  was  always 
plenty  for  her  to  do. 

The  man  she  met  face  to  face  was  Stepan. 

After  he  had  killed  the  innkeeper,  he  did  not 
return  to  town.  Strange  to  say,  he  was  not  sorry 
to  have  committed  that  murder.  His  mind  went 
back  to  the  murdered  man  over  and  over  again 
during  the  following  day;  and  he  liked  the  recol- 
lection of  having  done  the  thing  so  skilfully,  so 
cleverly,  that  nobody  would  ever  discover  it,  and 
he  would  not  therefore  be  prevented  from  mur- 
dering other  people  in  the  same  way.  Sitting  in 
the  public-house  and  having  his  tea,  he  looked  at 
the  people  around  him  with  the  same  thought  how 


132  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

he  should  murder  them.  In  the  evening  he  called 
at  a  carter's,  a  man  from  his  village,  to  spend  the 
night  at  his  house.  The  carter  was  not  in.  He 
said  he  would  wait  for  him,  and  in  the  meanwhile 
began  talking  to  the  carter's  wife.  But  when  she 
moved  to  the  stove,  with  her  back  turned  to  him, 
the  idea  entered  his  mind  to  kill  her.  He  mar- 
velled at  himself  at  first,  and  shook  his  head;  but 
the  next  moment  he  seized  the  knife  he  had  hid- 
den in  his  boot,  knocked  the  woman  down  on  the 
floor,  and  cut  her  throat.  When  the  children  be- 
gan to  scream,  he  killed  them  also  and  went  away. 
He  did  not  look  out  for  another  place  to  spend 
the  night,  but  at  once  left  the  town.  In  a  village 
some  distance  away  he  went  to  the  inn  and  slept 
there.  The  next  day  he  returned  to  the  district 
town,  and  there  he  overheard  in  the  street  Maria 
Semenovna's  talk  with  the  schoolmaster.  Her 
look  frightened  him,  but  yet  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  creep  into  her  house,  and  rob  her  of  the  money 
she  had  received.  When  the  night  came  he  broke 
the  lock  and  entered  the  house.  The  first  person 
who  heard  his  steps  was  the  younger  daughter, 
the  married  one.  She  screamed.  Stepan  stabbed 
her  Immediately  with  his  knife.  Her  husband 
woke  up  and  fell  upon  Stepan,  seized  him  by  his 
throat,  and  struggled  with  him  desperately.  But 
Stepan  was  the  stronger  man  and  overpowered 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  133 

him.  After  murdering  him,  Stepan,  excited  by 
the  long  fight,  stepped  Into  the  next  room  be- 
hind a  partition.  That  was  Maria  Semenovna's 
bedroom.  She  rose  In  her  bed,  looked  at 
Stepan  with  her  mild  frightened  eyes,  and  crossed 
herself. 

Once  more  her  look  scared  Stepan.  He 
dropped  his  eyes. 

"Where  Is  your  money?"  he  asked,  without 
raising  his  face. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Where  is  the  money?"  asked  Stepan  again, 
showing  her  his  knife. 

"  How  can  you     .     .     ."  she  said. 

"  You  will  see  how." 

Stepan  came  close  to  her,  in  order  to  seize  her 
hands  and  prevent  her  struggling  with  him,  but 
she  did  not  even  try  to  lift  her  arms  or  offer  any 
resistance ;  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  chest,  and 
sighed  heavily. 

**  Oh,  what  a  great  sin  I  "  she  cried.  "  How 
can  you  I  Have  mercy  on  yourself.  To  destroy 
somebody's  soul  .  .  .  and  worse,  your 
own!     .     .     ." 

Stepan  could  not  stand  her  voice  any  longer,  and 
drew  his  knife  sharply  across  her  throat.  "  Stop 
that  talk !  "  he  said.  She  fell  back  with  a  hoarse 
cry,  and  the  pillow  was  stained  with  blood.     He 


134  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

turned  away,  and  went  round  the  rooms  in  order 
to  collect  all  he  thought  worth  taking.  Having 
made  a  bundle  of  the  most  valuable  things,  he 
lighted  a  cigarette,  sat  down  for  a  while,  brushed 
his  clothes,  and  left  the  house.  He  thought  this 
murder  would  not  matter  to  him  more  than  those 
he  had  committed  before;  but  before  he  got  a 
night's  lodging,  he  felt  suddenly  so  exhausted  that 
he  could  not  walk  any  farther.  He  stepped  down 
into  the  gutter  and  remained  lying  there  the  rest 
of  the  night,  and  the  next  day  and  the  next  night. 


PART  SECOND 


The  whole  time  he  was  lying  In  the  gutter  Stepan 
saw  continually  before  his  eyes  the  thin,  kindly, 
and  frightened  face  of  Maria  Semenovna,  and 
seemed  to  hear  her  voice.  "  How  can  you?  "  she 
went  on  saying  in  his  imagination,  with  her  pe- 
culiar lisping  voice.  Stepan  saw  over  again  and 
over  again  before  him  all  he  had  done  to  her.  In 
horror  he  shut  his  eyes,  and  shook  his  hairy  head, 
to  drive  away  these  thoughts  and  recollections. 
For  a  moment  he  would  get  rid  of  them,  but  in 
their  place  horrid  black  faces  with  red  eyes  ap- 
peared and  frightened  him  continuously.  They 
grinned  at  him,  and  kept  repeating,  **  Now  you 
have  done  away  with  her  you  must  do  away  with 
yourself,  or  we  will  not  leave  you  alone."  He 
opened  his  eyes,  and  again  he  saw  her  and  heard 
her  voice;  and  felt  an  immense  pity  for  her  and 
a  deep  horror  and  disgust  with  himself.  Once 
more  he  shut  his  eyes,  and  the  black  faces  reap- 
peared. Towards  the  evening  of  the  next  day 
he  rose  and  went,  with  hardly  any  strength  left, 

135 


136  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

to  a  public-house.  There  he  ordered  a  drink,  and 
repeated  his  demands  over  and  over  again,  but 
no  quantity  of  liquor  could  make  him  intoxicated. 
He  was  sitting  at  a  table,  and  swallowed  silently 
one  glass  after  another. 

A  police  officer  came  in.  "  Who  are  you?  "  he 
asked  Stepan. 

"  I  am  the  man  who  murdered  all  the  Dobrot- 
vorov  people  last  night,"  he  answered. 

He  was  arrested,  bound  with  ropes,  and  brought 
to  the  nearest  police-station;  the  next  day  he  was 
transferred  to  the  prison  in  the  town.  The  in- 
spector of  the  prison  recognised  him  as  an  old  In- 
mate, and  a  very  turbulent  one ;  and,  hearing  that 
he  had  now  become  a  real  criminal,  accosted  him 
very  harshly. 

"  You  had  better  be  quiet  here,''  he  said  In  a 
hoarse  voice,  frowning,  and  protruding  his  lower 
jaw.  "  The  moment  you  don't  behave,  I'll  flog 
you  to  death !  Don't  try  to  escape  —  I  will  see 
to  that!" 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  escape,"  said  Stepan,  drop- 
ping his  eyes.  "  I  surrendered  of  my  own  free 
will." 

**  Shut  up !  You  must  look  straight  Into  your 
superior's  eyes  when  you  talk  to  him,"  cried  the 
inspector,  and  struck  Stepan  with  his  fist  under 
the  jaw. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  137 

At  that  moment  Stepan  again  saw  the  murdered 
woman  before  him,  and  heard  her  voice;  he  did 
not  pay  attention,  therefore,  to  the  inspector's 
words. 

"  What?  "  he  asked,  coming  to  his  senses  when 
he  felt  the  blow  on  his  face. 

*'  Be  off !     Don't  pretend  you  don't  hear." 

The  inspector  expected  Stepan  to  be  violent,  to 
talk  to  the  other  prisoners,  to  make  attempts  to 
escape  from  prison.  But  nothing  of  the  kind  ever 
happened.  Whenever  the  guard  or  the  inspector 
himself  looked  into  his  cell  through  the  hole  in 
the  door,  they  saw  Stepan  sitting  on  a  bag  filled 
with  straw,  holding  his  head  with  his  hands  and 
whispering  to  himself.  On  being  brought  before 
the  examining  magistrate  charged  with  the  inquiry 
into  his  case,  he  did  not  behave  like  an  ordinary 
convict.  He  was  very  absent-minded,  hardly  list- 
ening to  the  questions;  but  when  he  heard  what 
was  asked,  he  answered  truthfully,  causing  the 
utmost  perplexity  to  the  magistrate,  who,  accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  the  necessity  of  being  very 
clever  and  very  cunning  with  convicts,  felt  a 
strange  sensation  just  as  if  he  were  lifting  up  his 
foot  to  ascend  a  step  and  found  none.  Stepan 
told  him  the  story  of  all  his  murders;  and  did  it 
frowning,  with  a  set  look,  in  a  quiet,  businesslike 
voice,  trying  to  recollect  all  the  circumstances  of 


138  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

his  crimes.  "  He  stepped  out  of  the  house,"  said 
Stepan,  telling  the  tale  of  his  first  murder,  "  and 
stood  barefooted  at  the  door;  I  hit  him,  and  he 
just  groaned;  I  went  to  his  wife,  .  .  ."  And 
so  on. 

One  day  the  magistrate,  visiting  the  prison  cells, 
asked  Stepan  whether  there  was  anything  he  had 
to  complain  of,  or  whether  he  had  any  wishes  that 
might  be  granted  him.  Stepan  said  he  had  no 
wishes  whatever,  and  had  nothing  to  complain  of 
the  way  he  was  treated  in  prison.  The  magis- 
trate, on  leaving  him,  took  a  few  steps  In  the  foul 
passage,  then  stopped  and  asked  the  governor  who 
had  accompanied  him  in  his  visit  how  this  pris- 
oner was  behaving. 

"  I  simply  wonder  at  him,"  said  the  governor, 
who  was  very  pleased  with  Stepan,  and  spoke 
kindly  of  him.  "  He  has  now  been  with  us  about 
two  months,  and  could  be  held  up  as  a  model  of 
good  behaviour.  But  I  am  afraid  he  Is  plotting 
some  mischief.  He  is  a  daring  man,  and  excep- 
tionally strong." 

II 

During  the  first  month  in  prison  Stepan  suffered 
from  the  same  agonising  vision.  He  saw  the 
grey  wall  of  his  cell,  he  heard  the  sounds  of  the 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  139 

prison;  the  noise  of  the  cell  below  him,  where  a 
number  of  convicts  were  confined  together;  the 
striking  of  the  prison  clock;  the  steps  of  the  sentry 
in  the  passage;  but  at  the  same  time  he  saw  her 
with  that  kindly  face  which  conquered  his  heart 
the  very  first  time  he  met  her  in  the  street,  with 
that  thin,  strongly-marked  neck,  and  he  heard  her 
soft,  lisping,  pathetic  voice :  "  To  destroy  some- 
body's soul  .  .  .  and,  worst  of  all,  your  own. 
.     .     .     How  can  you?     .     .     ." 

After  a  while  her  voice  would  die  away,  and 
then  black  faces  would  appear.  They  would  ap- 
pear whether  he  had  his  eyes  open  or  shut.  With 
his  closed  eyes  he  saw  them  more  distinctly.  When 
he  opened  his  eyes  they  vanished  for  a  moment, 
melting  away  into  the  walls  and  the  door;  but 
after  a  while  they  reappeared  and  surrounded  him 
from  three  sides,  grinning  at  him  and  saying  over 
and  over :  "  Make  an  end  1  Make  an  end  I  Hang 
yourself!  Set  yourself  on  fire!''  Stepan  shook 
all  over  when  he  heard  that,  and  tried  to  say  all 
the  prayers  he  knew :  "  Our  Lady "  or  *^  Our 
Father."  At  first  this  seemed  to  help.  In  say- 
ing his  prayers  he  began  to  recollect  his  whole 
life;  his  father,  his  mother,  the  village,  the  dog 
**  Wolf,"  the  old  grandfather  lying  on  the  stove, 
the  bench  on  which  the  children  used  to  play;  then 
the  girls  in  the  village  with  their  songs,  his  horses 


I40  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

and  how  they  had  been  stolen,  and  how  the  thief 
was  caught  and  how  he  killed  him  with  a  stone. 
He  recollected  also  the  first  prison  he  was  in  and 
his  leaving  it,  and  the  fat  innkeeper,  the  carter's 
wife  and  the  children.  Then  again  she  came  to 
his  mind  and  again  he  was  terrified.  Throwing 
his  prison  overcoat  off  his  shoulders,  he  jumped 
out  of  bed,  and,  like  a  wild  animal  in  a  cage,  be- 
gan pacing  up  and  down  his  tiny  cell,  hastily  turn- 
ing round  when  he  had  reached  the  damp  walls. 
Once  more  he  tried  to  pray,  but  it  was  of  no  use 
now. 

The  autumn  came  with  Its  long  nights.  One 
evening  when  the  wind  whistled  and  howled  In  the 
pipes,  Stepan,  after  he  had  paced  up  and  down  his 
cell  for  a  long  time,  sat  down  on  his  bed.  He  felt 
he  could  not  struggle  any  more;  the  black  demons 
had  overpowered  him,  and  he  had  to  submit.  For 
some  time  he  had  been  looking  at  the  funnel  of  the 
oven.  If  he  could  fix  on  the  knob  of  its  lid  a  loop 
made  of  thin  shreds  of  narrow  linen  straps  it 
would  hold.  .  .  .  But  he  would  have  to  man- 
age It  very  cleverly.  He  set  to  work,  and  spent 
two  days  In  making  straps  out  of  the  linen  bag  on 
which  he  slept.  When  the  guard  came  Into  the 
cell  he  covered  the  bed  with  his  overcoat.  He 
tied  the  straps  with  big  knots  and  made  them 
double,  In  order  that  they  might  be  strong  enough 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  141 

to  hold  his  weight.  During  these  preparations  he 
was  free  from  tormenting  visions.  When  the 
straps  were  ready  he  made  a  slip-knot  out  of  them, 
and  put  It  round  his  neck,  stood  up  In  his  bed,  and 
hanged  himself.  But  at  the  very  moment  that  his 
tongue  began  to  protrude  the  straps  got  loose,  and 
he  fell  down.  The  guard  rushed  in  at  the  noise. 
The  doctor  was  called  in,  Stepan  was  brought  to 
the  infirmary.  The  next  day  he  recovered,  and 
was  removed  from  the  Infirmary,  no  more  to  soli- 
tary confinement,  but  to  share  the  common  cell 
with  other  prisoners. 

In  the  common  cell  he  lived  in  the  company  of 
twenty  men,  but  felt  as  If  he  were  quite  alone. 
He  did  not  notice  the  presence  of  the  rest;  did  not 
speak  to  anybody,  and  was  tormented  by  the  old 
agony.  He  felt  It  most  of  all  when  the  men  were 
sleeping  and  he  alone  could  not  get  one  moment 
of  sleep.  Continually  he  saw  her  before  his  eyes, 
heard  her  voice,  and  then  again  the  black  devils 
with  their  horrible  eyes  came  and  tortured  him  in 
the  usual  way. 

He  again  tried  to  say  his  prayers,  but,  just  as 
before,  it  did  not  help  him.  One  day  when,  after 
his  prayers,  she  was  again  before  his  eyes,  he  be- 
gan to  Implore  her  dear  soul  to  forgive  him  his  sin, 
and  release  him.  Towards  morning,  when  he  fell 
down  quite  exhausted  on  his  crushed  linen  bag,  he 


142  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

fell  asleep  at  once,  and  in  his  dream  she  came  to 
him  with  her  thin,  wrinkled,  and  severed  neck. 
"Will  you  forgive  me?"  he  asked.  She  looked 
at  him  with  her  mild  eyes  and  did  not  answer. 
"Will  you  forgive  me?"  And  so  he  asked  her 
three  times.  But  she  did  not  say  a  word,  and  he 
awoke.  From  that  time  onwards  he  suffered  less, 
and  seemed  to  come  to  his  senses,  looked  around 
him,  and  began  for  the  first  time  to  talk  to  the 
other  men  in  the  cell. 

Ill 

Stefan's  cell  was  shared  among  others  by  the 
former  yard-porter,  Vassily,  who  had  been  sen- 
tenced to  deportation  for  robbery,  and  by  Chouev, 
sentenced  also  to  deportation.  Vassily  sang  songs 
the  whole  day  long  with  his  fine  voice,  or  told  his 
adventures  to  the  other  men  in  the  cell.  Chouev 
was  working  at  something  all  day,  mending  his 
clothes,  or  reading  the  Gospel  and  the  Psalter. 

Stepan  asked  him  why  he  was  put  into  prison, 
and  Chouev  answered  that  he  was  being  perse- 
cuted because  of  his  true  Christian  faith  by  the 
priests,  who  were  all  of  them  hypocrites  and  hated 
those  who  followed  the  law  of  Christ.  Stepan 
asked  what  that  true  law  was,  and  Chouev  made 
clear  to  him  that  the  true  law  consists  in  not  wor- 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  143 

shipping  gods  made  with  hands,  but  worshipping 
the  spirit  and  the  truth.  He  told  him  how  he  had 
learnt  the  truth  from  the  lame  tailor  at  the  time 
when  they  were  dividing  the  land. 

"  And  what  will  become  of  those  who  have 
done  evil?"  asked  Stepan. 

"  The  Scriptures  give  an  answer  to  that,"  said 
Chouev,  and  read  aloud  to  him  Matthew  xxv. 
31:— 

"  When  the  Son  of  Man  shall  come  in  His 
glory,  and  all  the  holy  angels  with  Him,  then  shall 
He  sit  upon  the  throne  of  His  glory:  and  before 
Him  shall  be  gathered  all  nations:  and  He  shall 
separate  them  one  from  another,  as  a  shepherd 
divideth  His  sheep  from  the  goats:  and  He  shall 
set  the  sheep  on  His  right  hand,  but  the  goats  on 
the  left.  Then  shall  the  King  say  unto  them  on 
His  right  hand.  Come,  ye  blessed  of  My  Father, 
inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world:  for  I  was  an  hungred, 
and  ye  gave  Me  meat:  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave 
Me  drink:  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  Me  in: 
naked,  and  ye  clothed  Me:  I  was  sick,  and  ye 
visited  Me :  I  was  in  prison,  and  ye  came  unto  Me. 
Then  shall  the  righteous  answer  Him,  saying. 
Lord,  when  saw  we  Thee  an  hungred,  and  fed 
Thee?  or  thirsty,  and  gave  Thee  drink?     When 


144  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

saw  we  Thee  a  stranger,  and  took  Thee  in?  or 
naked,  and  clothed  Thee  ?  Or  when  saw  we  Thee 
sick,  or  in  prison,  and  came  unto  Thee?  And  the 
King  shall  answer  and  say  unto  them.  Verily  I  say 
unto  you,  inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of 
the  least  of  these  My  brethren,  ye  have  done  it 
unto  Me.  Then  shall  He  say  also  unto  them  on 
the  left  hand.  Depart  from  Me,  ye  cursed,  into 
everlasting  fire,  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  an- 
gels: for  I  was  an  hungred,  and  ye  gave  Me  no 
meat:  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  Me  no  drink:  I 
was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  Me  not  in :  naked,  and 
ye  clothed  Me  not;  sick,  and  in  prison,  and  ye 
visited  Me  not.  Then  shall  they  also  answer 
Him,  saying,  Lord,  when  saw  we  Thee  an  hun- 
gred, or  athirst,  or  a  stranger,  or  naked,  or  sick, 
or  in  prison,  and  did  not  minister  unto  Thee? 
Then  shall  He  answer  them,  saying.  Verily  I  say 
unto  you.  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  to  one  of  the 
least  of  these,  ye  did  it  not  to  Me.  And  these 
shall  go  away  into  everlasting  punishment :  but  the 
righteous  into  life  eternal." 

Vassily,  who  was  sitting  on  the  floor  at  Chouev*s 
side,  and  was  listening  to  his  reading  the  Gospel, 
nodded  his  handsome  head  in  approval.  "  True," 
he  said  in  a  resolute  tone.  "  Go,  you  cursed  vil- 
lains, into  everlasting  punishment,  since  you  did 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  145 

not  give  food  to  the  hungry,  but  swallowed  it  all 
yourself.  Serves  them  right!  I  have  read  the 
holy  Nikodim's  writings,"  he  added,  showing  off 
his  erudition. 

"And  will  they  never  be  pardoned?"  asked 
Stepan,  who  had  listened  silently,  with  his  hairy 
head  bent  low  down. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  and  be  silent,"  said  Chouev 
to  Vassily,  who  went  on  talking  about  the  rich 
who  had  not  given  meat  to  the  stranger,  nor  vis- 
ited him  in  the  prison. 

"  Wait,  I  say !  "  said  Chouev,  again  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  the  Gospel.  Having  found 
what  he  was  looking  for,  Chouev  smoothed  the 
page  with  his  large  and  strong  hand,  which  had 
become  exceedingly  white  in  prison : 

"  And  there  were  also  two  other  malefactors, 
led  with  Him  "  —  it  means  with  Christ  —  "  to  be 
put  to  death.  And  when  they  were  come  to  the 
place,  which  is  called  Calvary,  there  they  crucified 
Him,  and  the  malefactors,  one  on  the  right  hand, 
and  the  other  on  the  left.     Then  said  Jesus,  — 

*  Father,  forgive  them ;  for  they  know  not  what 
they  do.'  And  the  people  stood  beholding.  And 
the  rulers  also  with  them  derided  Him,  saying,  — 

*  He  saved  others;  let  Him  save  Himself  if  He 
be  Christ,  the  chosen  of  God.'     And  the  soldiers 


146  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

also  mocked  Him,  coming  to  Him,  and  offering 
Him  vinegar,  and  saying,  *  If  Thou  be  the  King  of 
the  Jews  save  Thyself.'  And  a  superscription 
also  was  written  over  Him  in  letters  of  Greek, 
and  Latin,  and  Hebrew,  *  This  is  the  King  of  the 
Jews.'  And  one  of  the  malefactors  which  were 
hanged  railed  on  Him,  saying,  *  If  thou  be  Christ, 
save  Thyself  and  us.'  But  the  other  answering 
rebuked  Him,  saying,  *  Dost  not  thou  fear  God, 
seeing  thou  art  in  the  same  condemnation?  And 
we  indeed  justly,  for  we  receive  the  due  reward  of 
our  deeds :  but  this  man  hath  done  nothing  amiss.' 
And  he  said  unto  Jesus,  *  Lord,  remember  me 
when  Thou  comest  into  Thy  kingdom.'  And  Je- 
sus said  unto  him,  *  Verily  I  say  unto  thee,  to-day 
shalt  thou  be  with  Me  in  paradise.'  " 

Stepan  did  not  say  anything,  and  was  sitting 
in  thought,  as  if  he  were  listening. 

Now  he  knew  what  the  true  faith  was.  Those 
only  will  be  saved  who  have  given  food  and  drink 
to  the  poor  and  visited  the  prisoners;  those  who 
have  not  done  it,  go  to  hell.  And  yet  the  male- 
factor had  repented  on  the  cross,  and  went  never- 
theless to  paradise.  This  did  not  strike  him  as 
being  inconsistent.  Quite  the  contrary.  The  one 
confirmed  the  other:  the  fact  that  the  merciful 
will  go  to  Heaven,  and  the  unmerciful  to  hell, 
meant  that  everybody  ought  to  be  merciful,  and 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  147 

the  malefactor  having  been  forgiven  by  Christ 
meant  that  Christ  was  merciful.  This  was  all 
new  to  Stepan,  and  he  wondered  why  it  had  been 
hidden  from  him  so  long. 

From  that  day  onward  he  spent  all  his  free  time 
with  Chouev,  asking  him  questions  and  listening 
to  him.  He  saw  but  a  single  truth  at  the  bottom 
of  the  teaching  of  Christ  as  revealed  to  him  by 
Chouev:  that  all  men  are  brethren,  and  that  they 
ought  to  love  and  pity  one  another  In  order  that 
all  might  be  happy.  And  when  he  listened  to 
Chouev,  everything  that  was  consistent  with  this 
fundamental  truth  came  to  him  like  a  thing  he 
had  known  before  and  only  forgotten  since,  while 
whatever  he  heard  that  seemed  to  contradict  it, 
he  would  take  no  notice  of,  as  he  thought  that  he 
simply  had  not  understood  the  real  meaning. 
And  from  that  time  Stepan  was  a  different 
man. 


IV 

Stepan  had  been  very  submissive  and  meek  ever 
since  he  came  to  the  prison,  but  now  he  made  the 
prison  authorities  and  all  his  fellow-prisoners 
wonder  at  the  change  in  him.  Without  being  or- 
dered, and  out  of  his  proper  turn  he  would  do  all 
the  very  hardest  work  In  prison,  and  the  dirtiest 
too.     But  In  spite  of  his  humility,  the  other  pris- 


148  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

oners  stood  in  awe  of  him,  and  were  afraid  of  him, 
as  they  knew  he  was  a  resolute  man,  possessed  of 
great  physical  strength.  Their  respect  for  him 
increased  after  the  incident  of  the  two  tramps 
who  fell  upon  him;  he  wrenched  himself  loose 
from  them  and  broke  the  arm  of  one  of  them  in 
the  fight.  These  tramps  had  gambled  with  a 
young  prisoner  of  some  means  and  deprived  him 
of  all  his  money.  Stepan  took  his  part,  and  de- 
prived the  tramps  of  their  winnings.  The  tramps 
poured  their  abuse  on  him;  but  when  they  attacked 
him,  he  got  the  better  of  them.  When  the  Gov- 
ernor asked  how  the  fight  had  come  about,  the 
tramps  declared  that  it  was  Stepan  who  had  begun 
it.  Stepan  did  not  try  to  exculpate  himself,  and 
bore  patiently  his  sentence  which  was  three  days 
in  the  punishment-cell,  and  after  that  solitary  con- 
finement. 

In  his  solitary  cell  he  suffered  because  he  could 
no  longer  listen  to  Chouev  and  his  Gospel.  He 
was  also  afraid  that  the  former  visions  of  her  and 
of  the  black  devils  would  reappear  to  torment 
him.  But  the  visions  were  gone  for  good.  His 
soul  was  full  of  new  and  happy  Ideas.  He  felt 
glad  to  be  alone  if  only  he  could  read,  and  if  he 
had  the  Gospel.  He  knew  that  he  might  have 
got  hold  of  the  Gospel,  but  he  could  not  read. 

He  had  started  to  learn  the  alphabet  in  his 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  149 

boyhood,  but  could  not  grasp  the  joining  of  the 
syllables,  and  remained  illiterate.  He  made  up 
his  mind  to  start  reading  anew,  and  asked  the 
guard  to  bring  him  the  Gospels.  They  were 
brought  to  him,  and  he  sat  down  to  work.  He 
contrived  to  recollect  the  letters,  but  could  not  join 
them  into  syllables.  He  tried  as  hard  as  he  could 
to  understand  how  the  letters  ought  to  be  put  to- 
gether to  form  words,  but  with  no  result  whatever. 
He  lost  his  sleep,  had  no  desire  to  eat,  and  a  deep 
sadness  came  over  him,  which  he  was  unable  to 
shake  off. 

"Well,  have  you  not  yet  mastered  it?'*  asked 
the  guard  one  day. 

"  No.'' 

"  Do  you  know  *  Our  Father '  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

**  Since  you  do,  read  it  In  the  Gospels.  Here 
It  is,"  said  the  guard,  showing  him  the  prayer  in 
the  Gospels.  Stepan  began  to  read  It,  comparing 
the  letters  he  knew  with  the  familiar  sounds. 

And  all  of  a  sudden  the  mystery  of  the  sylla- 
bles was  revealed  to  him,  and  he  began  to  read. 
This  was  a  great  joy.  From  that  moment  he 
could  read,  and  the  meaning  of  the  words,  spelt 
out  with  such  great  pains,  became  more  significant. 

Stepan  did  not  mind  any  more  being  alone. 
He  was  so  full  of  his  work  that  he  did  not  feel 


150  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

glad  when  he  was  transferred  back  to  the  common 
cell,  his  private  cell  being  needed  for  a  political 
prisoner  who  had  been  just  sent  to  prison. 

V 

In  the  meantime  Mahin,  the  schoolboy  who  had 
taught  his  friend  Smokovnikov  to  forge  the  cou- 
pon, had  finished  his  career  at  school  and  then  at 
the  university,  where  he  had  studied  law.  He 
had  the  advantage  of  being  liked  by  women,  and 
as  he  had  won  favour  with  a  vice-minister's  former 
mistress,  he  was  appointed  when  still  young  as 
examining  magistrate.  He  was  dishonest,  had 
debts,  had  gambled,  and  had  seduced  many 
women;  but  he  was  clever,  sagacious,  and  a  good 
magistrate.  He  was  appointed  to  the  court  of 
the  district  where  Stepan  Pelageushkine  had  been 
tried.  When  Stepan  was  brought  to  him  the  first 
time  to  give  evidence,  his  sincere  and  quiet  answers 
puzzled  the  magistrate.  He  somehow  uncon- 
sciously felt  that  this  man,  brought  to  him  In  fet- 
ters and  with  a  shorn  head,  guarded  by  two 
soldiers  who  were  waiting  to  take  him  back  to 
prison,  had  a  free  soul  and  was  Immeasurably  su- 
perior to  himself.  He  was  In  consequence  some- 
what troubled,  and  had  to  summon  up  all  his 
courage  In  order  to  go  on  with  the  Inquiry  and 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  151 

not  blunder  in  his  questions.  He  was  amazed 
that  Stepan  should  narrate  the  story  of  his  crimes 
as  If  they  had  been  things  of  long  ago,  and  com- 
mitted not  by  him  but  by  some  different  man. 

'*  Had  you  no  pity  for  them?  "  asked  Mahin. 

"  No.     I  did  not  know  then." 

"Well,  and  now?" 

Stepan  smiled  with  a  sad  smile.  "  Now,"  he 
said,  "  I  would  not  do  It  even  If  I  were  to  be 
burned  alive." 

"But  why?" 

"  Because  I  have  come  to  know  that  all  men 
are  brethren." 

"  What  about  me?     Am  I  your  brother  also?  " 

"  Of  course  you  are." 

"  And  how  Is  It  that  I,  your  brother,  am  send- 
ing you  to  hard  labour?  " 

"  It  Is  because  you  don't  know." 

"What  do  I  not  know?" 

"  Since  you  judge,  it  means  obviously  that  you 
don't  know." 

"Goon.     .     .     .     What  next?" 


VI 

Nov^  it  was  not  Chouev,  but  Stepan  who  used  to 
read  the  gospel  in  the  common  cell.  Some  of  the 
prisoners  were  singing  coarse  songs,  while  others 


152  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

listened  to  Stepan  reading  the  gospel  and  talking 
about  what  he  had  read.  The  most  attentive 
among  those  who  listened  were  two  of  the  pris- 
oners, Vassily,  and  a  convict  called  Mahorkin,  a 
murderer  who  had  become  a  hangman.  Twice 
during  his  stay  in  this  prison  he  was  called  upon 
to  do  duty  as  hangman,  and  both  times  in  far- 
away places  where  nobody  could  be  found  to  ex- 
ecute the  sentences. 

Two  of  the  peasants  who  had  killed  Peter 
Nikolaevich  Sventizky,  had  been  sentenced  to 
the  gallows,  and  Mahorkin  was  ordered  to  go  to 
Pensa  to  hang  them.  On  all  previous  occasions 
he  used  to  write  a  petition  to  the  governor  of  the 
province  —  he  knew  well  how  to  read  and  to  write 
—  stating  that  he  had  been  ordered  to  fulfil  his 
duty,  and  asking  for  money  for  his  expenses.  But 
now,  to  the  greatest  astonishment  of  the  prison 
authorities,  he  said  he  did  not  intend  to  go,  and 
added  that  he  would  not  be  a  hangman  any  more. 

"And  what  about  being  flogged?"  cried  the 
governor  of  the  prison. 

"  I  will  have  to  bear  it,  as  the  law  commands 
us  not  to  kill." 

"  Did  you  get  that  from  Pelageushkine  ?  A 
nice  sort  of  a  prison  prophet !  You  just  wait  and 
see  what  this  will  cost  you !  " 

When  Mahin  was  told  of  that  incident,  he  was 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  153 

greatly  impressed  by  the  fact  of  Stepan's  influence 
on  the  hangman,  who  refused  to  do  his  duty,  run- 
ning the  risk  of  being  hanged  himself  for  insub- 
ordination. 

VII 

At  an  evening  party  at  the  Eropkins,  Mahin,  who 
was  paying  attentions  to  the  two  young  daughters 
of  the  house  —  they  were  rich  matches,  both  of 
them  —  having  earned  great  applause  for  his  fine 
singing  and  playing  the  piano,  began  telling  the 
company  about  the  strange  convict  who  had  con- 
verted the  hangman.  Mahin  told  his  story  very 
accurately,  as  he  had  a  very  good  memory,  which 
was  all  the  more  retentive  because  of  his  total  in- 
difference to  those  with  whom  he  had  to  deal. 
He  never  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  other  peo- 
ple's feelings,  and  was  therefore  better  able  to 
keep  all  they  did  or  said  in  his  memory.  He  got 
interested  in  Stepan  Pelageushkine,  and,  although 
he  did  not  thoroughly  understand  him,  yet  asked 
himself  involuntarily  what  was  the  matter  with 
the  man?  He  could  not  find  an  answer,  but  feel- 
ing that  there  was  certainly  something  remarkable 
going  on  In  Stepan's  soul,  he  told  the  company  at 
the  Eropkins  all  about  Stepan's  conversion  of  the 
hangman,  and  also  about  his  strange  behaviour 
In  prison,  his  reading  the  Gospels  and  his  great 


154  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

influence  on  the  rest  of  the  prisoners.  All  this 
made  a  special  impression  on  the  younger  daugh- 
ter of  the  family,  Lisa,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  who 
was  just  recovering  from  the  artificial  life  she  had 
been  living  in  a  boarding-school;  she  felt  as  if 
she  had  emerged  out  of  water,  and  was  taking  in 
the  fresh  air  of  true  life  with  ecstasy.  She  asked 
Mahin  to  tell  her  more  about  the  mari  Pelageush- 
kine,  and  to  explain  to  her  how  such  a  great  change 
had  come  over  him.  Mahin  told  her  what  he 
knew  from  the  police  official  about  Stepan's  last 
murder,  and  also  what  he  had  heard  from  Pela- 
geushkine  himself  —  how  he  had  been  conquered 
by  the  humility,  mildness,  and  fearlessness  of  a 
kind  woman,  who  had  been  his  last  victim,  and 
how  his  eyes  had  been  opened,  while  the  reading 
of  the  Gospels  had  completed  the  change  in  him. 
Lisa  Eropkin  was  not  able  to  sleep  that  night. 
For  a  couple  of  months  a  struggle  had  gone  on  in 
her  heart  between  society  life,  into  which  her  sis- 
ter was  dragging  her,  and  her  infatuation  for 
Mahin,  combined  with  a  desire  to  reform  him. 
This  second  desire  now  became  the  stronger. 
She  had  already  heard  about  poor  Maria  Seme- 
novna.  But,  after  that  kind  woman  had  been 
murdered  in  such  a  ghastly  way,  and  after  Mahin, 
who  learnt  It  from  Stepan,  had  communicated  to 
her  all  the  facts  concerning  Maria  Semenovna's 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  155 

life,  Lisa  herself  passionately  desired  to  become 
like  her.  She  was  a  rich  girl,  and  was  afraid 
that  Mahin  had  been  courting  her  because  of  her 
money.  So  she  resolved  to  give  all  she  possessed 
to  the  poor,  and  told  Mahin  about  it. 

Mahin  was  very  glad  to  prove  his  disinterest- 
edness, and  told  Lisa  that  he  loved  her  and  not 
her  money.  Such  proof  of  his  innate  nobility 
made  him  admire  himself  greatly.  Mahin 
helped  Lisa  to  carry  out  her  decision.  And  the 
more  he  did  so,  the  more  he  came  to  realise  the 
new  world  of  Lisa's  spiritual  ambitions,  quite  un- 
known to  him  heretofore. 

VIII 

All  were  silent  in  the  common  cell.  Stepan  was 
lying  in  his  bed,  but  was  not  yet  asleep.  Vassily 
approached  him,  and,  pulling  him  by  his  leg, 
asked  him  in  a  whisper  to  get  up  and  to  come  to 
him.  Stepan  stepped  out  of  his  bed,  and  came 
up  to  Vassily. 

"  Do  me  a  kindness,  brother,"  said  Vassily. 
"Help  me!" 

"In  what?" 

"  I  am  going  to  fly  from  the  prison." 

Vassily  told  Stepan  that  he  had  everything  ready 
for  his  flight. 


156  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  stir  them  up  — "  He 
pointed  to  the  prisoners  asleep  in  their  beds. 
"  They  will  give  me  away,  and  I  shall  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  cell  in  the  upper  floor.  I  know  my 
way  from  there.  What  I  want  you  for  is  to  un- 
screw the  prop  in  the  door  of  the  mortuary.'' 

"  I  can  do  that.     But  where  will  you  go?  " 

"  I  don't  care  where.  Are  not  there  plenty  of 
wicked  people  in  every  place?" 

"  Quite  so,  brother.  But  it  is  not  our  business 
to  judge  them." 

"  I  am  not  a  murderer,  to  be  sure.  I  have  not 
destroyed  a  living  soul  in  my  life.  As  for  steal- 
ing, I  don't  see  any  harm  in  that.  As  if  they  have 
not  robbed  us !  " 

"  Let  them  answer  for  it  themselves,  if  they 
do." 

"  Bother  them  all  I  Suppose  I  rob  a  church, 
who  will  be  hurt?  This  time  I  will  take  care 
not  to  break  into  a  small  shop,  but  will  get 
hold  of  a  lot  of  money,  and  then  I  will  help  people 
with  it.     I  will  give  it  to  all  good  people." 

One  of  the  prisoners  rose  in  his  bed  and  lis- 
tened. Stepan  and  Vassily  broke  off  their  con- 
versation. The  next  day  Vassily  carried  out  his 
idea.  He  began  complaining  of  the  bread  in 
prison,  saying  it  was  moist,  and  induced  the  pris- 
oners to  c^ll  the  governor  and  to  tell  him  of  their 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  157 

discontent.  The  governor  came,  abused  them  all, 
and  when  he  heard  it  was  Vassily  who  had  stirred 
up  the  men,  he  ordered  him  to  be  transferred 
into  solitary  confinement  in  the  cell  on  the  upper 
floor.     This  was  all  Vassily  wanted. 


IX 

Vassily  knew  well  that  cell  on  the  upper  floor. 
He  knew  Its  floor,  and  began  at  once  to  take  out 
bits  of  it.  W^hen  he  had  managed  to  get  under 
the  floor  he  took  out  pieces  of  the  ceiling  beneath, 
and  jumped  down  into  the  mortuary  a  floor  below. 
That  day  only  one  corpse  was  lying  on  the  table. 
There  in  the  corner  of  the  room  were  stored  bags 
to  make  hay  mattresses  for  the  prisoners.  Vas- 
sily knew  about  the  bags,  and  that  was  why  the 
mortuary  served  his  purposes.  The  prop  in  the 
door  had  been  unscrewed  and  put  in  again.  He 
took  it  out,  opened  the  door,  and  went  out  into 
the  passage  to  the  lavatory  which  was  being  built. 
In  the  lavatory  was  a  large  hole  connecting  the 
third  floor  with  the  basement  floor.  After  hav- 
ing found  the  door  of  the  lavatory  he  went  back 
to  the  mortuary,  stripped  the  sheet  off  the  dead 
body  which  was  as  cold  as  ice  (in  taking  off  the 
sheet  Vassily  touched  his  hand),  took  the  bags, 
tied  them  together  to  make  a  rope,  and  carried 


158  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

the  rope  to  the  lavatory.  Then  he  attached  it 
to  the  cross-beam,  and  climbed  down  along  it. 
The  rope  did  not  reach  the  ground,  but  he  did 
not  know  how  much  was  wanting.  Anyhow,  he 
had  to  take  the  risk.  He  remained  hanging  in 
the  air,  and  then  jumped  down.  His  legs  were 
badly  hurt,  but  he  could  still  walk  on.  The 
basement  had  two  windows ;  he  could  have  climbed 
out  of  one  of  them  but  for  the  grating  protecting 
them.  He  had  to  break  the  grating,  but  there 
was  no  tool  to  do  it  with.  Vassily  began  to  look 
around  him,  and  chanced  on  a  piece  of  plank  with 
a  sharp  edge;  armed  with  that  weapon  he  tried 
to  loosen  the  bricks  which  held  the  grating.  He 
worked  a  long  time  at  that  task.  The  cock 
crowed  for  the  second  time,  but  the  grating  still 
held.  At  last  he  had  loosened  one  side ;  and  then 
he  pushed  the  plank  under  the  loosened  end  and 
pressed  with  all  his  force.  The  grating  gave  way 
completely,  but  at  that  moment  one  of  the  bricks 
fell  down  heavily.  The  noise  could  have  been 
heard  by  the  sentry.  Vassily  stood  motionless. 
But  silence  reigned.  He  climbed  out  of  the  win- 
dow. His  way  of  escape  was  to  climb  the  wall. 
An  outhouse  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  courtyard. 
He  had  to  reach  its  roof,  and  pass  thence  to  the 
top  of  the  wall.  But  he  would  not  be  able  to 
reach  the  roof  without  the  help  of  the  plank;  so 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  159 

he  had  to  go  back  through  the  basement  window 
to  fetch  It.  A  moment  later  he  came  out  of  the 
window  with  the  plank  in  his  hands ;  he  stood  still 
for  a  while  listening  to  the  steps  of  the  sentry. 
His  expectations  were  justified.  The  sentry  was 
walking  up  and  down  on  the  other  side  of  the 
courtyard.  Vassily  came  up  to  the  outhouse, 
leaned  the  plank  against  it,  and  began  climbing. 
The  plank  slipped  and  fell  on  the  ground.  Vas- 
sily had  his  stockings  on ;  he  took  them  off  so  that 
he  could  cling  with  his  bare  feet  in  coming  down. 
Then  he  leaned  the  plank  again  against  the  house, 
and  seized  the  water-pipe  with  his  hands.  If  only 
this  time  the  plank  would  hold!  A  quick  move- 
ment up  the  water-pipe,  and  his  knee  rested  on 
the  roof.  The  sentry  was  approaching.  Vassily 
lay  motionless.  The  sentry  did  not  notice  him, 
and  passed  on.  Vassily  leaped  to  his  feet;  the 
iron  roof  cracked  under  him.  Another  step  or 
two,  and  he  would  reach  the  wall.  He  could 
touch  it  with  his  hand  now.  He  leaned  forward 
with  one  hand,  then  with  the  other,  stretched  out 
his  body  as  far  as  he  could,  and  found  himself 
on  the  wall.  Only,  not  to  break  his  legs  in  jump- 
ing down,  Vassily  turned  round,  remained  hang- 
ing in  the  air  by  his  hands,  stretched  himself  out, 
loosened  the  grip  of  one  hand,  then  the  other. 
**  Help   me,    God!'*     He   was   on  the    ground. 


i6o  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

And  the  ground  was  soft.  His  legs  were  not 
hurt,  and  he  ran  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  In  a 
suburb,  Malania  opened  her  door,  and  he  crept 
under  her  warm  coverlet,  made  of  small  pieces 
of  different  colours  stitched  together. 


The  wife  of  Peter  Nikolaevich  Sventizky,  a  tall 
and  handsome  woman,  as  quiet  and  sleek  as  a 
well-fed  heifer,  had  seen  from  her  window  how 
her  husband  had  been  murdered  and  dragged  away 
into  the  fields.  The  horror  of  such  a  sight  to 
Natalia  Ivanovna  was  so  intense  —  how  could  it 
be  otherwise  ?  —  that  all  her  other  feelings  van- 
ished. No  sooner  had  the  crowd  disappeared 
from  view  behind  the  garden  fence,  and  the  voices 
had  become  still;  no  sooner  had  the  bare-footed 
Malania,  their  servant,  run  in  with  her  eyes  start- 
ing out  of  her  head,  calling  out  in  a  voice  more 
suited  to  the  proclamation  of  glad  tidings  the 
news  that  Peter  Nikolaevich  had  been  murdered 
and  thrown  into  the  ravine,  than  Natalia  Ivan- 
ovna felt  that  behind  her  first  sensation  of  horror, 
there  was  another  sensation;  a  feeling  of  joy  at 
her  deliverance  from  the  tyrant,  who  through  all 
the  nineteen  years  of  their  married  life  had  made 
her   work   without   a   moment's    rest.     Her   joy 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  i6i 

made  her  aghast;  she  did  not  confess  it  to  herself, 
but  hid  it  the  more  from  those  around.  When 
his  mutilated,  yellow  and  hairy  body  was  being 
washed  and  put  into  the  coffin,  she  cried  with  hor- 
ror, and  wept  and  sobbed.  When  the  coroner  — 
a  special  coroner  for  serious  cases  —  came  and 
was  taking  her  evidence,  she  noticed  in  the  room, 
where  the  inquest  was  taking  place,  two  peasants 
in  irons,  who  had  been  charged  as  the  principal 
culprits.  One  of  them  was  an  old  man  with  a 
curly  white  beard,  and  a  calm  and  severe  coun- 
tenance. The  other  was  rather  young,  of  a  gipsy 
type,  with  bright  eyes  and  curly  dishevelled  hair. 
She  declared  that  they  were  the  two  men  who  had 
first  seized  hold  of  Peter  Nikolaevich's  hands. 
In  spite  of  the  gipsy-like  peasant  looking  at  her 
with  his  eyes  glistening  from  under  his  moving 
eyebrows,  and  saying  reproachfully:  "A  great 
sin,  lady,  it  is.  Remember  your  death  hour !  " 
• —  in  spite  of  that,  she  did  not  feel  at  all  sorry  for 
them.  On  the  contrary,  she  began  to  hate  them 
during  the  inquest,  and  wished  desperately  to 
take  revenge  on  her  husband's  murderers. 

A  month  later,  after  the  case,  which  was  com- 
mitted for  trial  by  court-martial,  had  ended  In 
eight  men  being  sentenced  to  hard  labour,  and  in 
two  —  the  old  man  with  the  white  beard,  and  the 
gipsy  boy,  as  she  called  the  other  —  being  con- 


i62  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

demned  to  be  hanged,  Natalia  felt  vaguely  uneasy. 
But  unpleasant  doubts  soon  pass  away  under  the 
solemnity  of  a  trial.  Since  such  high  authorities 
considered  that  this  was  the  right  thing  to  do,  it 
must  be  right. 

The  execution  was  to  take  place  in  the  village 
itself.  One  Sunday  Malania  came  home  from 
church  in  her  new  dress  and  her  new  boots,  and 
announced  to  her  mistress  that  the  gallows  were 
being  erected,  and  that  the  hangman  was  expected 
from  Moscow  on  Wednesday.  She  also  an- 
nounced that  the  families  of  the  convicts  were 
raging,  and  that  their  cries  could  be  heard  all  over 
the  village. 

Natalia  Ivanovna  did  not  go  out  of  her  house; 
she  did  not  wish  to  see  the  gallows  and  the  people 
in  the  village;  she  only  wanted  what  had  to  hap- 
pen to  be  over  quickly.  She  only  considered  her 
own  feelings,  and  did  not  care  for  the  convicts 
and  their  families. 

On  Tuesday  the  village  constable  called  on 
Natalia  Ivanovna.  He  was  a  friend,  and  she  of- 
fered him  vodka  and  preserved  mushrooms  of  her 
own  making.  The  constable,  after  eating  a  little, 
told  her  that  the  execution  was  not  to  take  place 
the  next  day. 

"Why?" 

"  A  very  strange  thing  has  happened.     There 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  163 

Is  no  hangman  to  be  found.  They  had  one  In 
Moscow,  my  son  told  me,  but  he  has  been  reading 
the  Gospels  a  good  deal  and  says :  '  I  will  not 
commit  a  murder.'  He  had  himself  been  sen- 
tenced to  hard  labour  for  having  committed  a  mur- 
der, and  now  he  objects  to  hang  when  the  law  or- 
ders him.  He  was  threatened  with  flogging. 
*  You  may  flog  me,'  he  said,  *  but  I  won't  do  it.'  " 

Natalia  Ivanovna  grew  red  and  hot  at  the 
thought  which  suddenly  came  into  her  head. 

"  Could  not  the  death  sentence  be  commuted 
now?  " 

"  How  so,  since  the  judges  have  passed  it  ? 
The  Czar  alone  has  the  right  of  amnesty." 

"  But  how  would  he  know?  " 

"  They  have  the  right  of  appealing  to  him." 

"  But  It  is  on  my  account  they  are  to  die,"  said 
that  stupid  woman,  Natalia  Ivanovna.  "  And  I 
forgive  them." 

The  constable  laughed.  "Well  —  send  a  pe- 
tition to  the  Czar." 

"May  I  doit?" 

"  Of  course  you  may." 

"But  is  it  not  too  late?" 

"  Send  it  by  telegram." 

"To  the  Czar  himself?" 

"  To  the  Czar,  if  you  like." 

The  story  of  the  hangman  having  refused  to 


1 64  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

do  his  duty,  and  preferring  to  take  the  flogging 
instead,  suddenly  changed  the  soul  of  Natalia 
Ivanovna.  The  pity  and  the  horror  she  felt  the 
moment  she  heard  that  the  peasants  were  sen- 
tenced to  death,  could  not  be  stifled  now,  but 
filled  her  whole  soul. 

"  Fillp  Vassillevlch,  my  friend.  Write  that  tel- 
egram for  me.  I  want  to  appeal  to  the  Czar  to 
pardon  them." 

The  constable  shook  his  head.  **  I  wonder 
whether  that  would  not  Involve  us  in  trouble?  " 

"  I  do  It  upon  my  own  responsibility.  I  will 
not  mention  your  name." 

"  Is  not  she  a  kind  woman,"  thought  the  con- 
stable. "  Very  kind-hearted,  to  be  sure.  If  my 
wife  had  such  a  heart,  our  life  would  be  a  para- 
dise, instead  of  what  it  Is  now."  And  he  wrote 
the  telegram,  — 

"  To  his  Imperial  Majesty,  the  Emperor. 
"  Your  Majesty's  loyal  subject,  the  widow  of  Pe- 
ter Nikolaevlch  Sventizky,  murdered  by  the  peas- 
ants, throws  herself  at  the  sacred  feet  (this 
sentence,  when  he  wrote  it  down,  pleased  the  con- 
stable himself  most  of  all)  of  your  Imperial 
Majesty,  and  Implores  you  to  grant  an  amnesty 
to  the  peasants  so  and  so,  from  such  a  province, 
district,  and  village,  who  have  been  sentenced  to 
death." 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  iS; 

The  telegram  was  sent  by  the  constable  him- 
self, and  Natalia  Ivanovna  felt  relieved  and 
happy.  She  had  a  feeling  that  since  she,  the 
widow  of  the  murdered  man,  had  forgiven  the 
murderers,  and  was  applying  for  an  amnesty,  the 
Czar  could  not  possibly  refuse  it. 

XI 

Lisa  Eropkin  lived  in  a  state  of  continual  ex- 
citement. The  longer  she  lived  a  true  Christian 
life  as  it  had  been  revealed  to  her,  the  more  con- 
vinced she  became  that  it  was  the  right  way,  and 
her  heart  was  full  of  joy. 

She  had  two  immediate  aims  before  her.  The 
one  was  to  convert  Mahin;  or,  as  she  put  it  to 
herself,  to  arouse  his  true  nature,  which  was  good 
and  kind.  She  loved  him,  and  the  light  of  her 
love  revealed  the  divine  element  in  his  soul  which 
Is  at  the  bottom  of  all  souls.  But,  further,  she 
saw  In  him  an  exceptionally  kind  and  tender 
heart,  as  well  as  a  noble  mind.  Her  other  aim 
was  to  abandon  her  riches.  She  had  first  thought 
of  giving  away  what  she  possessed  in  order  to 
test  Mahin;  but  afterwards  she  wanted  to  do  so 
for  her  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  her  own  soul. 
She  began  by  simply  giving  money  to  any  one  who 
wanted  it.     But  her  father  stopped  that;  besides 


1 66  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

which,  she  felt  disgusted  at  the  crowd  of  suppli- 
cants who  personally,  and  by  letters,  besieged  her 
with  demands  for  money.  Then  she  resolved  to 
apply  to  an  old  man,  known  to  be  a  saint  by  his 
life,  and  to  give  him  her  money  to  dispose  of  in 
the  way  he  thought  best.  Her  father  got  angry 
with  her  when  he  heard  about  it.  During  a  vio- 
lent altercation  he  called  her  mad,  a  raving  luna- 
tic, and  said  he  would  take  measures  to  prevent 
her  from  doing  injury  to  herself. 

Her  father's  irritation  proved  contagious. 
Losing  all  control  over  herself,  and  sobbing  with 
rage,  she  behaved  with  the  greatest  impertinence 
to  her  father,  calling  him  a  tyrant  and  a  miser. 

Then  she  asked  his  forgiveness.  He  said  he 
did  not  mind  what  she  said;  but  she  saw  plainly 
that  he  was  offended,  and  in  his  heart  did  not 
forgive  her.  She  did  not  feel  inclined  to  tell 
Mahin  about  her  quarrel  with  her  father;  as  to 
her  sister,  she  was  very  cold  to  Lisa,  being  jealous 
of  Mahin's  love  for  her. 

"  I  ought  to  confess  to  God,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. As  all  this  happened  in  Lent,  she  made  up 
her  mind  to  fast  in  preparation  for  the  communion, 
and  to  reveal  all  her  thoughts  to  the  father  con- 
fessor, asking  his  advice  as  to  what  she  ought  to 
decide  for  the  future. 

At  a  small  distance  from  her  town  a  monastery 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  167 

was  situated,  where  an  old  monk  lived  who  had 
gained  a  great  reputation  by  his  holy  life,  by  his 
sermons  and  prophecies,  as  well  as  by  the  mar- 
vellous cures  ascribed  to  him. 

The  monk  had  received  a  letter  from  Lisa's 
father  announcing  the  visit  of  his  daughter,  and 
telling  him  in  what  a  state  of  excitement  the  young 
girl  was.  He  also  expressed  the  hope  in  that 
letter  that  the  monk  would  Influence  her  in  the 
right  way,  urging  her  not  to  depart  from  the 
golden  mean,  and  to  live  like  a  good  Christian 
without  trying  to  upset  the  present  conditions  of 
her  life. 

The  monk  received  Lisa  after  he  had  seen 
many  other  people,  and  being  very  tired,  began 
by  quietly  recommending  her  to  be  modest  and  to 
submit  to  her  present  conditions  of  life  and  to 
her  parents.  Lisa  listened  silently,  blushing  and 
flushed  with  excitement.  When  he  had  finished 
admonishing  her,  she  began  saying  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  timidly  at  first,  that  Christ  bade  us  leave 
father  and  mother  to  follow  Him.  Getting  more 
and  more  excited,  she  told  him  her  conception  of 
Christ.  The  monk  smiled  slightly,  and  replied 
as  he  generally  did  when  admonishing  his  peni- 
tents; but  after  a  while  he  remained  silent, 
repeating  with  heavy  sighs,  "  O  God  I " 
Then  he   said,    **  Well,   come   to    confession   to- 


1 68  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

morrow,"  and  blessed  her  with  his  wrinkled 
hands. 

The  next  day  Lisa  came  to  confession,  and 
without  renewing  their  interrupted  conversation, 
he  absolved  her  and  refused  to  dispose  of  her  for- 
tune, giving  no  reasons  for  doing  so. 

Lisa's  purity,  her  devotion  to  God  and  her  ar- 
dent soul,  impressed  the  monk  deeply.  He  had 
desired  long  ago  to  renounce  the  world  entirely; 
but  the  brotherhood,  which  drew  a  large  income 
from  his  work  as  a  preacher,  insisted  on  his  con- 
tinuing his  activity.  He  gave  way,  although  he 
had  a  vague  feeling  that  he  was  in  a  false  posi- 
tion. It  was  rumoured  that  he  was  a  miracle- 
working  saint,  whereas  in  reality  he  was  a  weak 
man,  proud  of  his  success  in  the  world.  When 
the  soul  of  Lisa  was  revealed  to  him,  he  saw 
clearly  into  his  own  soul.  He  discovered  how 
different  he  was  to  what  he  wanted  to  be,  and 
realised  the  desire  of  his  heart. 

Soon  after  Lisa's  visit  he  went  to  live  in  a  sep- 
arate cell  as  a  hermit,  and  for  three  weeks  did  not 
officiate  again  in  the  church  of  the  friary.  After 
the  celebration  of  the  mass,  he  preached  a  sermon 
denouncing  his  own  sins  and  those  of  the  world, 
and  urging  all  to  repent. 

From  that  day  he  preached  every  fortnight, 
and  his  sermons  attracted  increasing  audiences. 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  169 

His  fame  as  a  preacher  spread  abroad.  His 
sermons  were  extraordinarily  fearless  and  sin- 
cere, and  deeply  Impressed  all  who  listened  to  him. 

XII 

Vassily  was  actually  carrying  out  the  object  he 
had  in  leaving  the  prison.  With  the  help  of  a  few 
friends  he  broke  Into  the  house  of  the  rich  mer- 
chant Krasnopuzov,  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  miser 
and  a  debauchee.  Vassily  took  out  of  hl$  writing- 
desk  thirty  thousand  roubles,  and  began  disposing 
of  them  as  he  thought  right.  He  even  gave  up 
drink,  so  as  not  to  spend  that  money  on  himself, 
but  to  distribute  it  to  the  poor;  helping  poor  girls 
to  get  married;  paying  off  people's  debts,  and  do- 
ing this  all  without  ever  revealing  himself  to  those 
he  helped;  his  only  desire  was  to  distribute  his 
money  in  the  right  way.  As  he  also  gave  bribes 
to  the  police,  he  was  left  in  peace  for  a  long  time. 

His  heart  was  singing  for  joy.  When  at  last 
he  was  arrested  and  put  to  trial,  he  confessed 
with  pride  that  he  had  robbed  the  fat  merchant. 
"  The  money,"  he  said,  "  was  lying  Idle  In  that 
fooPs  desk,  and  he  did  not  even  know  how  much 
he  had,  whereas  I  have  put  It  into  circulation  and 
helped  a  lot  of  good  people.'' 

The  counsel  for  the  defence  spoke  with  such 


I70  THE  EORGED  COUPON 

good  humour  and  kindness  that  the  jury  felt  in- 
clined to  discharge  Vassily,  but  sentenced  him 
nevertheless  to  confinement  In  prison.  He 
thanked  the  jury,  and  assured  them  that  he  would 
find  his  way  out  of  prison  before  long. 


XIII 

Natalia  Ivanovna  Sventizky's  telegram 
proved  useless.  The  committee  appointed  to 
deal  with  the  petitions  in  the  Emperor's  name,  de- 
cided not  even  to  make  a  report  to  the  Czar. 
But  one  day  when  the  Sventlzky  case  was  dis- 
cussed at  the  Emperor's  luncheon-table,  the  chair- 
man of  the  committee,  who  was  present,  mentioned 
the  telegram  which  had  been  received  from  Sven- 
tizky's  widow. 

*'  C'est  tres  gentil  de  sa  party*  said  one  of  the 
ladles  of  the  Imperial  family. 

The  Emperor  sighed,  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
adorned  with  epaulettes.  "The  law,''  he  said; 
and  raised  his  glass  for  the  groom  of  the  chamber 
to  pour  out  some  Moselle. 

All  those  present  pretended  to  admire  the  wis- 
dom of  the  sovereign's  words.  There  was  no 
further  question  about  the  telegram.  The  two 
peasants,  the  old  man  and  the  young  boy,  were 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  171 

hanged  by  a  Tartar  hangman  from  Kazan,  a  cruel 
convict  and  a  murderer. 

The  old  man's  wife  wanted  to  dress  the  body  of 
her  husband  in  a  white  shirt,  with  white  bands 
which  serve  as  stockings,  and  new  boots,  but  she 
Was  not  allowed  to  do  so.  The  two  men  were 
buried  together  in  the  same  pit  outside  the  church- 
yard wall. 

"  Princess  Sofia  Vladimirovna  tells  me  he  is  a 
very  remarkable  preacher,''  remarked  the  old  Em- 
press, the  Emperor's  mother,  one  day  to  her  son: 
"  Faltes  le  venir.     II  pent  precher  a  la  cathedraleJ* 

"  No,  it  would  be  better  in  the  palace  church," 
said  the  Emperor,  and  ordered  the  hermit  Isidor 
to  be  invited. 

All  the  generals,  and  other  high  officials,  as- 
sembled in  the  church  of  the  imperial  palace;  it 
was  an  event  to  hear  the  famous  preacher. 

A  thin  and  grey  old  man  appeared,  looked  at 
those  present,  and  said:  "In  the  name  of  God, 
the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,"  and  began  to 
speak. 

At  first  all  went  well,  but  the  longer  he  spoke 
the  worse  it  became.  "  //  devient  de  plus  en  plus 
aggressif/'  as  the  Empress  put  it  afterwards. 
He  fulminated  against  every  one.  He  spoke 
about  the  executions  and  charged  the  government 
with  having  made  so  many  necessary.     How  can 


172  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

the  government  of  a  Christian  country  kill  men? 

Everybody  looked  at  everybody  else,  thinking 
of  the  bad  taste  of  the  sermon,  and  how  unpleas- 
ant it  must  be  for  the  Emperor  to  listen  to  it ;  but 
nobody  expressed  these  thoughts  aloud. 

When  Isldor  had  said  Amen,  the  metropolitan 
approached,  and  asked  him  to  call  on  him. 

After  Isidor  had  had  a  talk  with  the  metropol- 
itan and  with  the  attorney-general,  he  was  imme- 
diately sent  away  to  a  friary,  not  his  own,  but  one 
at  Suzdal,  which  had  a  prison  attached  to  it;  the 
prior  of  that  friary  was  now  Father  Missael. 

XIV 

Every  one  tried  to  look  as  if  Isidor's  sermon 
contained  nothing  unpleasant,  and  nobody  men- 
tioned it.  It  seemed  to  the  Czar  that  the  hermit's 
words  had  not  made  any  impression  on  himself; 
but  once  or  twice  during  that  day  he  caught  him- 
self thinking  of  the  two  peasants  who  had  been 
hanged,  and  the  widow  of  Sventizky  who  had 
asked  an  amnesty  for  them.  That  day  the  Em- 
peror had  to  be  present  at  a  parade;  after  which 
he  went  out  for  a  drive;  a  reception  of  ministers 
came  next,  then  dinner,  after  dinner  the  theatre. 
As  usual,  the  Czar  fell  asleep  the  moment  his  head 
touched  the  pillow.     In  the  night  an  awful  dream 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  173 

awoke  him:  he  saw  gallows  in  a  large  field  and 
corpses  dangling  on  them;  the  tongues  of  the 
corpses  were  protruding,  and  their  bodies  moved 
and  shook.  And  somebody  shouted,  "  It  is  you 
—  you  who  have  done  it."  The  Czar  woke  up 
bathed  in  perspiration  and  began  to  think.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  thought  of  the 
responsibilities  which  weighed  on  him,  and  the 
words  of  old  Isidor  came  back  to  his 
mind.     .     . 

But  only  dimly  could  he  see  himself  as  a  mere 
human  being,  and  he  could  not  consider  his  mere 
human  wants  and  duties,  because  of  all  that  was 
required  of  him  as  Czar.  As  to  acknowledging 
that  human  duties  were  more  obligatory  than 
those  of  a  Czar  —  he  had  not  strength  for  that. 


XV 

Having  served  his  second  term  in  the  prison,  Pro- 
kofy,  who  had  formerly  worked  on  the  Sventizky 
estate,  was  no  longer  the  brisk,  ambitious,  smartly 
dressed  fellow  he  had  been.  He  seemed,  on  the 
contrary,  a  complete  wreck.  When  sober  he 
would  sit  idle  and  would  refuse  to  do  any  work, 
however  much  his  father  scolded  him;  moreover, 
he  was  continually  seeking  to  get  hold  of  some- 
thing secretly,  and  take  it  to  the  public-house  for 


174  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

a  drink.  When  he  came  home  he  would  continue 
to  sit  idle,  coughing  and  spitting  all  the  time. 
The,  doctor  on  whom  he  called,  examined  his  chest 
and  shook  his  head. 

"  You,  my  man,  ought  to  have  many  things 
which  you  have  not  got.'* 

"  That  is  usually  the  case.  Isn't  It?  " 

"  Take  plenty  of  milk,  and  don't  smoke." 

"  These  are  days  of  fasting,  and  besides  we 
have  no  cow." 

Once  in  spring  he  could  not  get  any  sleep;  he 
was  longing  to  have  a  drink.  There  was  nothing 
in  the  house  he  could  lay  his  hand  on  to  take  to 
the  public-house.  He  put  on  his  cap  and  went 
out.  He  walked  along  the  street  up  to  the  house 
where  the  priest  and  the  deacon  lived  together. 
The  deacon's  harrow  stood  outside  leaning  against 
the  hedge.  Prokofy  approached,  took  the  har- 
row upon  his  shoulder,  and  walked  to  an  Inn  kept 
by  a  woman,  Petrovna.  She  might  give  him  a 
small  bottle  of  vodka  for  it.  But  he  had  hardly 
gone  a  few  steps  when  the  deacon  came  out  of  his 
house.  It  was  already  dawn,  and  he  saw  that 
Prokofy  was  carrying  away  his  harrow. 

"  Hey,  what's  that?"  cried  the  deacon. 

The  neighbours  rushed  out  from  their  houses. 
Prokofy  was  seized,  brought  to  the  police  station, 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  175 

and  then  sentenced  to  eleven  months'  imprison- 
ment. It  was  autumn,  and  Prokofy  had  to  be 
transferred  to  the  prison  hospital.  He  was 
coughing  badly;  his  chest  was  heaving  from  the 
exertion;  and  he  could  not  get  warm.  Those  who 
were  stronger  contrived  not  to  shiver;  Prokofy 
on  the  contrary  shivered  day  and  night,  as  the  su- 
perintendent would  not  light  the  fires  in  the  hos- 
pital till  November,  to  save  expense. 

Prokofy  sujffered  greatly  in  body,  and  still  more 
in  soul.  He  was  disgusted  with  his  surroundings, 
and  hated  every  one  —  the  deacon,  the  superin- 
tendent who  would  not  light  the  fires,  the  guard, 
and  the  man  who  was  lying  in  the  bed  next  to  his, 
and  who  had  a  swollen  red  lip.  He  began  also 
to  hate  the  new  convict  who  was  brought  into 
hospital.  This  convict  was  Stepan.  He  was 
suffering  from  some  disease  on  his  head,  and  was 
transferred  to  the  hospital  and  put  in  a  bed  at 
Prokofy's  side.  After  a  time  that  hatred  to 
Stepan  changed,  and  Prokofy  became,  on  the  con- 
trary, extremely  fond  of  him;  he  delighted  in 
talking  to  him.  It  was  only  after  a  talk  with 
Stepan  that  his  anguish  would  cease  for  a  while. 
Stepan  always  told  every  one  he  met  about  his 
last  murder,  and  how  it  had  impressed  him. 

"  Far    from    shrieking,    or    anything    of    that 


176  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

kind,"  he  said  to  Prokofy,  "  she  did  not  move. 
*  Kill  me !  There  I  am,'  she  said.  *  But  it  is  not 
my  soul  you  destroy,  it  is  your  own.'  " 

"  Well,  of  course,  it  is  very  dreadful  to  kill.  I 
had  one  day  to  slaughter  a  sheep,  and  even  that 
made  me  half  mad.  I  have  not  destroyed  any  liv- 
ing soul;  why  then  do  those  villains  kill  me?  I 
have  done  no  harm  to  anybody     .     .     ." 

"  That  will  be  taken  into  consideration." 

"By  whom?'' 

"  By  God,  to  be  sure." 

**  I  have  not  seen  anything  yet  showing  that 
God  exists,  and  I  don't  believe  In  Him,  brother. 
I  think  when  a  man  dies,  grass  will  grow  over 
the  spot,  and  that  is  the  end. of  it." 

"  You  are  wrong  to  think  like  that.  I  have 
murdered  so  many  people,  whereas  she,  poor 
soul,  was  helping  everybody.  And  you  think  she 
and  I  are  to  have  the  same  lot?  Oh  no!  Only 
wait." 

"  Then  you  believe  the  soul  lives  on  after  a 
man  Is  dead?  " 

"  To  be  sure;  it  truly  lives." 

Prokofy  suffered  greatly  when  death  drew 
near.  He  could  hardly  breathe.  But  in  the  very 
last  hour  he  felt  suddenly  relieved  from  all  pain. 
He  called  Stepan  to  him.  "  Farewell,  brother," 
he  said.     "  Death  has  come,   I  see.     I  was  so 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  177 

afraid  of  It  before.  And  now  I  don't  mind.  I 
only  wish  it  to  come  quicker." 

XVI 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  affairs  of  Eugene  Mihailo- 
vich  had  grown  worse  and  worse.  Business  was 
very  slack.  There  was  a  new  shop  in  the  town; 
he  was  losing  his  customers,  and  the  interest  had 
to  be  paid.  He  borrowed  again  on  interest.  At 
last  his  shop  and  his  goods  were  to  be  sold  up. 
Eugene  Mihailovich  and  his  wife  applied  to  every 
one  they  knew,  but  they  could  not  raise  the  four 
hundred  roubles  they  needed  to  save  the  shop  any- 
where. 

They  had  some  hope  of  the  merchant  Krasno- 
puzov,  Eugene  Mihailovich's  wife  being  on  good 
terms  with  his  mistress.  But  news  came  that 
Krasnopuzov  had  been  robbed  of  a  huge  sum  of 
money.  Some  said  of  half  a  million  roubles. 
**  And  do  you  know  who  is  said  to  be  the  thief?  " 
said  Eugene  Mihailovich  to  his  wife.  "  Vassily, 
our  former  yard-porter.  They  say  he  is  squan- 
dering the  money,  and  the  police  are  bribed  by 
him." 

"  I  knew  he  was  a  villain.  You  remember  how 
he  did  not  mind  perjuring  himself?  But  I  did 
not  expect  it  would  go  so  far." 


178  THE  FORGED  COUPON 

"  I  hear  he  has  recently  been  in  the  courtyard 
of  our  house.  Cook  says  she  is  sure  it  was  he. 
She  told  me  he  helps  poor  girls  to  get  married." 

"  They  always  invent  tales.  I  don't  believe 
It." 

At  that  moment  a  strange  man,  shabbily  dressed, 
entered  the  shop. 

"What  is  It  you  want?  " 

"  Here  is  a  letter  for  you." 

"  From  whom  ?  " 

"  You  will  see  yourself." 

"  Don't  you  require  an  answer?  Wait  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  I  cannot."  The  strange  man  handed  the  let- 
ter and  disappeared. 

"How  extraordinary!"  said  Eugene  Mihailo- 
vich,  and  tore  open  the  envelope.  To  his  great 
amazement  several  hundred  rouble  notes  fell  out. 
"  Four  hundred  roubles !  "  he  exclaimed,  hardly 
believing  his  eyes.     "  What  does  it  mean?  " 

The  envelope  also  contained  a  badly-spelt  letter, 
addressed  to  Eugene  Mihailovich.  "  It  is  said  in 
the  Gospels,"  ran  the  letter,  "  do  good  for  evil. 
You  have  done  me  much  harm ;  and  in  the  coupon 
case  you  made  me  wrong  the  peasants  greatly. 
But  I  have  pity  for  you.  Here  are  four  hundred 
notes.  Take  them,  and  remember  your  porter 
Vassily." 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  179 

"  Very  extraordinary ! ''  said  Eugene  Mihailo- 
vich  to  his  wife  and  to  himself.  And  each  time 
he  remembered  that  incident,  or  spoke  about  it 
to  his  wife,  tears  would  come  to  his  eyes. 

XVII 

Fourteen  priests  were  kept  in  the  Suzdal  friary 
prison,  chiefly  for  having  been  untrue  to  the  or- 
thodox faith.  Isidor  had  been  sent  to  that  place 
also.  Father  Missael  received  him  according  to 
the  instructions  he  had  been  given,  and  without 
talking*  to  him  ordered  him  to  be  put  into  a  sep- 
arate cell  as  a  serious  criminal.  After  a  fort- 
night Father  Missael,  making  a  round  of  the 
prison,  entered  Isidores  cell,  and  asked  him 
whether  there  was  anything  he,  wished  for. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  I  wish  for,"  answered 
Isidor;  "but  I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  is  in  the 
presence  of  anybody  else.  Let  me  talk  to  you 
privately." 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  Missael  saw  he 
had  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  in  remaining  alone 
with  Isidor.  He  ordered  Isidor  to  be  brought 
into  his  own  room,  and  when  they  were  alone,  he 
said, — 

"  Well,  now  you  can  speak." 

Isidor  fell  on  his  knees. 


i8o  THE  FORGED  COUPON 


u 


Brother,''  said  Isidor.  "  What  are  you  do- 
ing to  yourself !  Have  mercy  on  your  own  soul. 
You  are  the  worst  villain  in  the  world.  You  have 
offended  against  all  that  is  sacred     .     .     ." 

A  month  after  Missael  sent  a  report,  asking 
that  Isidor  should  be  released  as  he  had  repented, 
and  he  also  asked  for  the  release  of  the  rest  of 
the  prisoners.     After  which  he  resigned  his  post. 


XVIII 

Ten  years  passed.  Mitia  Smokovnikov  had  fin- 
ished his  studies  in  the  Technical  College ;  he  was 
now  an  engineer  in  the  gold  mines  in  Siberia,  and 
was  very  highly  paid.  One  day  he  was  about  to 
make  a  round  in  the  district.  The  governor  of- 
fered him  a  convict,  Stepan  Pelageushklne,  to  ac- 
company him  on  his  journey. 

"  A  convict,  you  say?  But  is  not  that  danger- 
ous?'' 

"  Not  if  it  is  this  one.  He  is  a  holy  man.  You 
may  ask  anybody,  they  will  all  tell  you  so." 

"Why  has  he  been  sent  here?" 

The  governor  smiled.  "  He  had  committed  six 
murders,  and  yet  he  is  a  holy  man.  I  go  bail  for 
him." 

Mitia  Smokovnikov  took  Stepan,  now  a  bald- 


THE  FORGED  COUPON  i8i 

headed,  lean,  tanned  man,  with  him  on  his  journey. 
On  their  way  Stepan  took  care  of  Smokovnikov 
like  his  own  child,  and  told  him  his  story;  told 
him  why  he  had  been  sent  here,  and  what  now 
filled  his  life. 

And,  strange  to  say,  MItIa  Smokovnikov,  who 
up  to  that  time  used  to  spend  his  time  drinking, 
eating,  and  gambling,  began  for  the  first  time  to 
meditate  on  life.  These  thoughts  never  left  him 
now,  and  produced  a  complete  change  In  his  habits. 
After  a  time  he  was  offered  a  very  advantageous 
position.  He  refused  it,  and  made  up  his  mind 
to  buy  an  estate  with  the  money  he  had,  to  marry, 
and  to  devote  himself  to  the  peasantry,  helping 
them  as  much  as  he  could. 


XIX 

He  carried  out  his  intentions.  But  before  retiring 
to  his  estate  he  called  on  his  father,  with  whom 
he  had  been  on  bad  terms,  and  who  had  settled 
apart  with  his  new  family.  Mitia  Smokovnikov 
wanted  to  make  It  up.  The  old  man  wondered  at 
first,  and  laughed  at  the  change  he  noticed  In  his 
son ;  but  after  a  while  he  ceased  to  find  fault  with 
him,  and  thought  of  the  many  times  when  it  was 
he  who  was  the  guilty  one. 


AFTER  THE  DANCE 


AFTER  THE  DANCE 

" —  And  you  say  that  a  man  cannot,  of  himself, 
understand  what  is  good  and  evil;  that  It  Is  all 
environment,  that  the  environment  swamps  the 
man.  But  I  believe  It  is  all  chance.  Take  my 
own  case     .     .     .'* 

Thus  spoke  our  excellent  friend,  Ivan  Vasllle- 
vich,  after  a  conversation  between  us  on  the  Impos- 
sibility of  Improving  Individual  character  without 
a  change  of  the  conditions  under  which  men  live. 
Nobody  had  actually  said  that  one  could  not  of 
oneself  understand  good  and  evil;  but  It  was  a 
habit  of  Ivan  Vaslllevlch  to  answer  In  this  way  the 
thoughts  aroused  In  his  own  mind  by  conversation, 
and  to  Illustrate  those  thoughts  by  relating  Inci- 
dents In  his  own  life.  He  often  quite  forgot  the 
reason  for  his  story  In  telling  It ;  but  he  always  told 
It  with  great  sincerity  and  feeling. 

He  did  so  now. 

"  Take  my  own  case.  My  whole  life  was 
moulded,  not  by  environment,  but  by  something 
quite  different." 

"  By  what,  then  ?  "  we  asked. 

"  Oh,  that  Is  a  long  story.  I  should  have  to 
185 


1 86  AFTER  THE  DANCE 

tell  you  about  a  great  many  things  to  make  you 
understand." 

''  Well,  tell  us  then." 

Ivan  Vasilievich  thought  a  little,  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  My  whole  life,"  he  said,  *'  was  changed  in  one 
night,  or,  rather,  morning." 

"  Why,  what  happened?  "  one  of  us  asked. 

"  What  happened  was  that  I  was  very  much  in 
love.  I  have  been  in  love  many  times,  but  this 
was  the  most  serious  of  all.  It  is  a  thing  of  the 
past;  she  has  married  daughters  now.     It  was 

Varinka  B ."     Ivan  Vasilievich  mentioned  her 

surname.  "  Even  at  fifty  she  is  remarkably  hand- 
some; but  in  her  youth,  at  eighteen,  she  was  ex- 
quisite —  tall,  slender,  graceful,  and  stately.  Yes, 
stately  is  the  word ;  she  held  herself  very  erect,  by 
instinct  as  it  were;  and  carried  her  head  high,  and 
that  together  with  her  beauty  and  height  gave  her 
a  queenly  air  in  spite  of  being  thin,  even  bony  one 
might  say.  It  might  indeed  have  been  deterring 
had  it  not  been  for  her  smile,  which  was  always 
gay  and  cordial,  and  for  the  charming  light  in 
her  eyes  and  for  her  youthful  sweetness." 

'*  What  an  entrancing  description  you  give,  Ivan 
Vasilievich !  " 

"  Description,  indeed!  I  could  not  possibly  de- 
scribe her  so  that  you  could  appreciate  her.     But 


AFTER  THE  DANCE  187 

that  does  not  matter ;  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
happened  in  the  forties.  I  was  at  that  time  a 
student  in  a  provincial  university.  I  don't  know 
whether  it  was  a  good  thing  or  no,  but  we  had  no 
political  clubs,  no  theories  in  our  universities  then. 
We  were  simply  young  and  spent  our  time  as  young 
men  do,  studying  and  amusing  ourselves.  I  was  a 
very  gay,  lively,  careless  fellow,  and  had  plenty  of 
money  too.  I  had  a  fine  horse,  and  used  to  go 
tobogganing  with  the  young  ladies.  Skating  had 
not  yet  come  into  fashion.  I  went  to  drinking 
parties  with  my  comrades  —  in  those  days  we 
drank  nothing  but  champagne  —  if  we  had  no 
champagne  we  drank  nothing  at  all.  We  never 
drank  vodka,  as  they  do  now.  Evening  parties 
and  balls  were  my  favourite  amusements.  I 
danced  well,  and  was  not  an  ugly  fellow." 

"  Come,  there  is  no  need  to  be  modest,"  inter- 
rupted a  lady  near  him.  "  We  have  seen  your 
photograph.  Not  ugly,  indeed!  You  were  a 
handsome  fellow." 

"  Handsome,  if  you  like.  That  does  not  mat- 
ter. When  my  love  for  her  was  at  its  strongest, 
on  the  last  day  of  the  carnival,  I  was  at  a  ball  at 
the  provincial  marshal's,  a  good-natured  old  man, 
rich  and  hospitable,  and  a  court  chamberlain.  The 
guests  were  welcomed  by  his  wife,  who  was  as 
good-natured   as    himself.     She   was    dressed   In 


1 88  AFTER  THE  DANCE 

puce-coloured  velvet,  and  had  a  diamond  diadem 
on  her  forehead,  and  her  plump,  old  white  shoul- 
ders and  bosom  were  bare  like  the  portraits  of 
Empress  Elizabeth,  the  daughter  of  Peter  the 
Great. 

**  It  was  a  delightful  ball.  It  was  a  splendid 
room,  with  a  gallery  for  the  orchestra,  which  was 
famous  at  the  time,  and  consisted  of  serfs  belong- 
ing to  a  musical  landowner.  The  refreshments 
were  magnificent,  and  the  champagne  flowed  in 
rivers.  Though  I  was  fond  of  champagne  I  did 
not  drink  that  night,  because  without  It  I  was 
drunk  with  love.  But  I  made  up  for  It  by  danc- 
ing waltzes  and  polkas  till  I  was  ready  to  drop  — 
of  course,  whenever  possible,  with  Varlnka.  She 
wore  a  white  dress  with  a  pink  sash,  white  shoes, 
and  white  kid  gloves,  which  did  not  quite  reach  to 
her  thin  pointed  elbows.  A  disgusting  engineer 
named  Anisimov  robbed  me  of  the  mazurka  with 
her  —  to  this  day  I  cannot  forgive  him.  He  asked 
her  for  the  dance  the  minute  she  arrived,  while 
I  had  driven  to  the  hair-dresser's  to  get  a  pair  of 
gloves,  and  was  late.  So  I  did  not  dance  the 
mazurka  with  her,  but  with  a  German  girl  to  whom 
I  had  previously  paid  a  little  attention ;  but  I  am 
afraid  I  did  not  behave  very  politely  to  her  that 
evening.  I  hardly  spoke  or  looked  at  her,  and  saw 
nothing  but  the  tall,  slender  figure  in  a  white  dress. 


1 88  \FTER  THE  DANCE 

puc"  i    i  '^red  velvet,  and  had  a  diamond  diadem 

0  ad,  and  her  plump,  old  white  shoul- 
om  were  bare  like  the  portraits  of 

abeth.    the   daughter   of   Peter   the 

lul  ball.     It  was  a  splendid 

for  the  orchestra,  which  was 

!  nd  consisted  of  serfs  belong- 

downer.     The  refreshments 

and  the  champagne  flowed  in 

•  "'as  fond  of  champagne  I  did 

_  .,  because  without  it  I  was 

But  I  made  up  for  it  by  danc 

'    IS  till  I  was  ready  to  drop  — 

'^'^sible,  with  Varinka.     Shr 

a  pink  sash,  white  shoe- 

which  did  not  quite  reach  t 

\  disgusting  engineer 

.  .:  of  the  mazurka  with 

her  —  I  forgive  him.     He  asked 

her  for  the  dsnee  the  minute  she  arrived,  whilr 

1  had  driven  to  the  hair-dresser's  to  get  a  pair  ^^ 
gloves,   and   w:i<.i  !.i?e      So   I   did  not  dance  th. 
mazurka  ^  German  girl  to  whor 
I  had  previously  -  attention;  but  I  arr. 
afraid  I  did  not  bejr  .  c  \    ry  politely  to  her  '^' 
evening.     I  hardly  spoke  or  looked  at  her,  an 
nothing  but  the  tall,  slender  figure  in  a  white  drcs«, 


Peter  the  Great 

Steel  engraving 


AFTER  THE  DANCE  189 

with  a  pink  sash,  a  flushed,  beaming,  dimpled 
face,  and  sweet,  kind  eyes.  I  was  not  alone ;  they 
were  all  looking  at  her  with  admiration,  the  men 
and  women  alike,  although  she  outshone  all  of 
them.     They  could  not  help  admiring  her. 

"  Although  I  was  not  nominally  her  partner  for 
the  mazurka,  I  did  as  a  matter  of  fact  dance  nearly 
the  whole  time  with  her.  She  always  came  for- 
ward boldly  the  whole  length  of  the  room  to  pick 
me  out.  I  flew  to  meet  her  without  waiting  to  be 
chosen,  and  she  thanked  me  with  a  smile  for  my 
intuition.  When  I  was  brought  up  to  her  with 
somebody  else,  and  she  guessed  wrongly,  she  took 
the  other  man*s  hand  with  a  shrug  of  her  slim 
shoulders,  and  smiled  at  me  regretfully. 

"  Whenever  there  was  a  waltz  figure  In  the 
mazurka,  I  waltzed  with  her  for  a  long  time,  and 
breathing  fast  and  smiling,  she  would  say,  'En- 
core*; and  I  went  on  waltzing  and  waltzing,  as 
though  unconscious   of  any  bodily  existence." 

*'  Come  now,  how  could  you  be  unconscious  of 
it  with  your  arm  round  her  waist?  You  must 
have  been  conscious,  not  only  of  your  own  exist- 
ence, but  of  hers,"  said  one  of  the  party. 

Ivan  VasUIevich  cried  out,  almost  shouting  in 
anger:  "  There  you  are,  moderns  all  over  I  Now- 
adays you  think  of  nothing  but  the  body.  It  was 
different  in  our  day.     The  more  I  was  in  love  the 


I90  AFTER  THE  DANCE 

less  corporeal  was  she  in  my  eyes.  Nowadays  you 
think  of  nothing  but  the  body.  It  was  different 
in  our  day.  The  more  I  was  in  love  the  less  cor- 
poreal was  she  in  my  eyes.  Nowadays  you  see 
legs,  ankles,  and  I  don't  know  what.  You  undress 
the  women  you  are  in  love  with.  In  my  eyes,  as 
Alphonse  Karr  said  —  and  he  was  a  good  writer 
— *  the  one  I  loved  was  always  draped  in  robes  of 
bronze.'  We  never  thought  of  doing  so;  we  tried 
to  veil  her  nakedness,  like  Noah's  good-natured 
son.     Oh,  well,  you  can't  understand." 

"  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him.  Go  on,"  said 
one  of  them. 

*'  Well,  I  danced  for  the  most  part  with  her, 
and  did  not  notice  how  time  was  passing.  The 
musicians  kept  playing  the  same  mazurka  tunes 
over  and  over  again  in  desperate  exhaustion  —  you 
know  what  it  is  towards  the  end  of  a  ball.  Papas 
and  mammas  were  already  getting  up  from  the 
card-tables  in  the  drawing-room  in  expectation  of 
supper,  the  men-servants  were  running  to  and 
fro  bringing  in  things.  It  was  nearly  three 
o'clock.  I  had  to  make  the  most  of  the  last 
minutes.  I  chose  her  again  for  the  mazurka,  and 
for  the  hundredth  time  we  danced  across  the 
room. 

"  *  The  quadrille  after  supper  is  mine,'  I  said, 
taking  her  to  her  place. 


AFTER  THE  DANCE  191 

"  *  Of  course,  if  I  am  not  carried  off  home,'  she 
said,  with  a  smile. 

"  *  I  won't  give  you  up,'  I  said. 

"  *  Give  me  my  fan,  anyhow,'  she  answered, 

*' '  I  am  so  sorry  to  part  with  it,'  I  said,  handing 
her  a  cheap  white  fan. 

"  *  Well,  here's  something  to  console  you,'  she 
said,  plucking  a  feather  out  of  the  fan,  and  giving 
it  to  me. 

"  I  took  the  feather,  and  could  only  express  my 
rapture  and  gratitude  with  my  eyes.  I  was  not 
only  pleased  and  gay,  I  was  happy,  delighted;  I 
was  good,  I  was  not  myself  but  some  being  not 
of  this  earth,  knowing  nothing  of  evil.  I  hid  the 
feather  in  my  glove,  and  stood  there  unable  to 
tear  myself  away  from  her. 

"  *  Look,  they  are  urging  father  to  dance,'  she 
said  to  me,  pointing  to  the  tall,  stately  figure  of 
her  father,  a  colonel  with  silver  epaulettes,  who 
was  standing  in  the  doorway  with  some  ladies. 

"  *  Varinka,  come  here  1 '  exclaimed  our  hostess, 
the  lady  with  the  diamond  ferronniere  and  with 
shoulders  like  Elizabeth,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Varinka  went  to  the  door,  and  I  followed  her. 

"  *  Persuade  your  father  to  dance  the  mazurka 
with  you,  ma  chere. — Do,  please,  Peter  Valdislavo- 
vich,'  she  said,  turning  to  the  colonel. 

"  Varinka's  father  was  a  very  handsome,  well- 


192  AFTER  THE  DANCE 

preserved  old  man.  He  had  a  good  colour,  mous- 
taches curled  in  the  style  of  Nicolas  I.,  and  white 
whiskers  which  met  the  moustaches.  His  hair  was 
combed  on  to  his  forehead,  and  a  bright  smile, 
like  his  daughter's,  was  on  his  lips  and  in  his  eyes. 
He  was  splendidly  set  up,  with  a  broad  military 
chest,  on  which  he  wore  some  decorations,  and  he 
had  powerful  shoulders  and  long  slim  legs.  He 
was  that  ultra-military  type  produced  by  the  disci- 
pline of  Emperor  Nicolas  I. 

"  When  we  approached  the  door  the  colonel  was 
just  refusing  to  dance,  saying  that  he  had  quite  for- 
gotten how;  but  at  that  instant  he  smiled,  swung 
his  arm  gracefully  around  to  the  left,  drew  his 
sword  from  Its  sheath,  handed  it  to  an  obliging 
young  man  who  stood  near,  and  smoothed  his 
suede  glove  on  his  right  hand. 

**  *  Everything  must  be  done  according  to  rule,' 
he  said  with  a  smile.  He  took  the  hand  of  his 
daughter,  and  stood  one-quarter  turned,  waiting 
for  the  music. 

"  At  the  first  sound  of  the  mazurka,  he  stamped 
one  foot  smartly,  threw  the  other  forward,  and, 
at  first  slowly  and  smoothly,  then  buoyantly  and 
impetuously,  with  stamping  of  feet  and  clicking  of 
boots,  his  tall,  imposing  figure  moved  the  length 
of  the  room.  Varinka  swayed  gracefully  beside 
him,   rhythmically  and  easily,  making  her  steps 


AFTER  THE  DANCE  193 

short  or  long,  with  her  little  feet  In  their  white  satin 
slippers. 

"  All  the  people  in  the  room  followed  every 
movement  of  the  couple.  As  for  me  I  not  only  ad- 
mired, I  regarded  them  with  enraptured  sym- 
pathy. I  was  particularly  Impressed  with  the  old 
gentleman's  boots.  They  were  not  the  modern 
pointed  affairs,  but  were  made  of  cheap  leather, 
squared-toed,  and  evidently  built  by  the  regimental 
cobbler.  In  order  that  his  daughter  might  dress 
and  go  out  In  society,  he  did  not  buy  fashionable 
boots,  but  wore  home-made  ones,  I  thought,  and 
his  square  toes  seemed  to  me  most  touching.  It 
was  obvious  that  In  his  time  he  had  been  a  good 
dancer;  but  now  he  was  too  heavy,  and  his  legs  had 
not  spring  enough  for  all  the  beautiful  steps  he 
tried  to  take.  Still,  he  contrived  to  go  twice  round 
the  room.  When  at  the  end,  standing  with  legs 
apart,  he  suddenly  clicked  his  feet  together  and  fell 
on  one  knee,  a  bit  heavily,  and  she  danced  grace- 
fully around  him,  smiling  and  adjusting  her  skirt, 
the  whole  room  applauded. 

**  Rising  with  an  effort,  he  tenderly  took  his 
daughter's  face  between  his  hands.  He  kissed  her 
on  the  forehead,  and  brought  her  to  me,  under  the 
impression  that  I  was  her  partner  for  the  mazurka. 
I  said  I  was  not.  *  Well,  never  mind.  Just  go 
around  the  room  once  with  her,'  he  said,  smil- 


194  AFTER  THE  DANCE 

ing   kindly,    as    he    replaced   his    sword    in    the 
sheath. 

"  As  the  contents  of  a  bottle  flow  readily  when 
the  first  drop  has  been  poured,  so  my  love  for 
Varlnka  seemed  to  set  free  the  whole  force  of  lov- 
ing within  me.  In  surrounding  her  It  embraced  the 
world.  I  loved  the  hostess  with  her  diadem  and 
her  shoulders  like  Elizabeth,  and  her  husband  and 
her  guests  and  her  footmen,  and  even  the  engineer 
Anisimov  who  felt  peevish  towards  me.  As  for 
Varlnka's  father,  with  his  home-made  boots  and 
his  kind  smile,  so  like  her  own,  I  felt  a  sort  of  ten- 
derness for  him  that  was  almost  rapture. 

"  After  supper  I  danced  the  promised  quadrille 
with  her,  and  though  I  had  been  infinitely  happy 
before,  I  grew  still  happier  every  moment. 

"  We  did  not  speak  of  love.  I  neither  asked 
myself  nor  her  whether  she  loved  me.  It  was 
quite  enough  to  know  that  I  loved  her.  And  I  had 
only  one  fear  —  that  something  might  come  to  in- 
terfere with  my  great  joy. 

"  When  I  went  home,  and  began  to  undress  for 
the  night,  I  found  it  quite  out  of  the  question.  I 
held  the  little  feather  out  of  her  fan  in  my  hand, 
and  one  of  her  gloves  which  she  gave  me  when  I 
helped  her  into  the  carriage  after  her  mother. 
Looking  at  these  things,  and  without  closing  my 
eyes  I  could  see  her  before  me  as  she  was  for  an 


AFTER  THE  DANCE  195 

instant  when  she  had  to  choose  between  two  part- 
ners. She  tried  to  guess  what  kind  of  person 
was  represented  in  me,  and  I  could  hear  her 
sweet  voice  as  she  said,  *  Pride  —  am  I  right?  '  and 
merrily  gave  me  her  hand.  At  supper  she  took  the 
first  sip  from  my  glass  of  champagne,  looking  at 
me  over  the  rim  with  her  caressing  glance.  But, 
plainest  of  all,  I  could  see  her  as  she  danced  with 
her  father,  gliding  along  beside  him,  and  looking 
at  the  admiring  observers  with  pride  and  happi- 
ness. 

"  He  and  she  were  united  in  my  mind  in  one 
rush  of  pathetic  tenderness. 

"  I  was  living  then  with  my  brother,  who  has 
since  died.  He  disliked  going  out,  and  never  went 
to  dances;  and  besides,  he  was  busy  preparing  for 
his  last  university  examinations,  and  was  leading  a 
very  regular  life.  He  was  asleep.  I  looked  at 
him,  his  head  buried  in  the  pillow  and  half  covered 
with  the  quilt;  and  I  affectionately  pitied  him  — 
pitied  him  for  his  ignorance  of  the  bliss  I  was  ex- 
periencing. Our  serf  Petrusha  had  met  me  with  a 
candle,  ready  to  undress  me,  but  I  sent  him  away. 
His  sleepy  face  and  tousled  hair  seemed  to  me  so 
touching.  Trying  not  to  make  a  noise,  I  went  to 
my  room  on  tiptoe  and  sat  down  on  my  bed.  No, 
I  was  too  happy;  I  could  not  sleep.  Besides,  It 
was  too  hot  in  the  rooms.     Without  taking  off  my 


196  AFTER  THE  DANCE 

uniform,  I  went  quietly  into  the  hall,  put  on  my 
overcoat,  opened  the  front  door  and  stepped  out 
into  the  street. 

"It  was  after  four  when  I  had  left  the  ball; 
going  home  and  stopping  there  a  while  had  occu- 
pied two  hours,  so  by  the  time  I  went  out  it  was 
dawn.  It  was  regular  carnival  weather  —  foggy, 
and  the  road  full  of  water-soaked  snow  just  melt- 
ing, and  water  dripping  from  the  eaves.  Varin- 
ka's  family  lived  on  the  edge  of  town  near  a  large 
field,  one  end  of  which  was  a  parade  ground:  at 
the  other  end  was  a  boarding-school  for  young 
ladies.  I  passed  through  our  empty  little  street 
and  came  to  the  main  thoroughfare,  where  I  met 
pedestrians  and  sledges  laden  with  wood,  the  run- 
ners grating  the  road.  The  horses  swung  with 
regular  paces  beneath  their  shining  yokes,  their 
backs  covered  with  straw  mats  and  their  heads  wet 
with  rain;  while  the  drivers,  in  enormous  boots, 
splashed  through  the  mud  beside  the  sledges.  All 
this,  the  very  horses  themselves,  seemed  to  me 
stimulating  and  fascinating,  full  of  suggestion. 

"  When  I  approached  the  field  near  their  house, 
I  saw  at  one  end  of  it,  in  the  direction  of  the  pa- 
rade ground,  something  very  huge  and  black,  and 
I  heard  sounds  of  fife  and  drum  proceeding  from 
It.  My  heart  had  been  full  of  song,  and  I  had 
heard  in  imagination  the  tune  of  the  mazurka. 


AFTER  THE  DANCE  197 

but  this  was  very  harsh  music.     It  was  not  pleas- 
ant. 

"*What  can  that  be?*  I  thought,  and  went 
towards  the  sound  by  a  slippery  path  through  the 
centre  of  the  field.  Walking  about  a  hundred 
paces,  I  began  to  distinguish  many  black  objects 
through  the  mist.  They  were  evidently  soldiers. 
*  It  Is  probably  a  drill,'  I  thought. 

*'  So  I  went  along  in  that  direction  in  company 
with  a  blacksmith,  who  wore  a  dirty  coat  and  an 
apron,  and  was  carrying  something.  He  walked 
ahead  of  me  as  we  approached  the  place.  The 
soldiers  In  black  uniforms  stood  in  two  rows,  fac- 
ing each  other  motionless,  their  guns  at  rest.  Be- 
hind them  stood  the  fifes  and  drums,  incessantly 
repeating  the  same  unpleasant  tune. 

"*What  are  they  doing?'  I  asked  the  black- 
smith, who  halted  at  my  side. 

"  *  A  Tartar  is  being  beaten  through  the  ranks 
for  his  attempt  to  desert,'  said  the  blacksmith  in 
an  angry  tone,  as  he  looked  intently  at  the  far  end 
of  the  line. 

"  I  looked  in  the  same  direction,  and  saw  be- 
tween the  files  something  horrid  approaching  me. 
The  thing  that  approached  was  a  man,  stripped 
to  the  waist,  fastened  with  cords  to  the  guns  of  two 
soldiers  who  were  leading  him.  At  his  side  an 
officer  in  overcoat  and  cap  was  walking,  whose 


198  AFTER  THE  DANCE 

figure  had  a  familiar  look.  The  victim  advanced 
under  the  blows  that  rained  upon  him  from  both 
sides,  his  whole  body  plunging,  his  feet  dragging 
through  the  snow.  Now  he  threw  himself  back- 
ward, and  the  subalterns  who  led  him  thrust  him 
forward.  Now  he  fell  forward,  and  they  pulled 
him  up  short;  while  ever  at  his  side  marched  the 
tall  officer,  with  firm  and  nervous  pace.  It  was 
Varinka's  father,  with  his  rosy  face  and  white 
moustache. 

*'  At  each  stroke  the  man,  as  if  amazed,  turned 
his  face,  grimacing  with  pain,  towards  the  side 
whence  the  blow  came,  and  showing  his  white  teeth 
repeated  the  same  words  over  and  over.  But  I 
could  only  hear  what  the  words  were  when  he  came 
quite  near.  He  did  not  speak  them,  he  sobbed 
them  out, — 

**  *  Brothers,  have  mercy  on  me !  Brothers,  have 
mercy  on  me !  '  But  the  brothers  had  no  mercy, 
and  when  the  procession  came  close  to  me,  I  saw 
how  a  soldier  who  stood  opposite  me  took  a  firm 
step  forward  and  lifting  his  stick  with  a  whirr, 
brought  it  down  upon  the  man's  back.  The  man 
plunged  forward,  but  the  subalterns  pulled  him 
back,  and  another  blow  came  down  from  the  other 
side,  then  from  this  side  and  then  from  the  other. 
The  colonel  marched  beside  him,  and  looking  now 
at  his  feet  and  now  at  the  man,  inhaled  the  air, 


AFTER  THE  DANCE  199 

puffed  out  his  cheeks,  and  breathed  It  out  between 
his  protruded  lips.  When  they  passed  the  place 
where  I  stood,  I  caught  a  glimpse  between  the  two 
files  of  the  back  of  the  man  that  was  being  pun- 
ished. It  was  something  so  many-coloured,  wet, 
red,  unnatural,  that  I  could  hardly  believe  it  was  a 
human  body. 

'* '  My  God ! '  muttered  the  blacksmith. 

"  The  procession  moved  farther  away.  The 
blows  continued  to  rain  upon  the  writhing,  falling 
creature;  the  fifes  shrilled  and  the  drums  beat,  and 
the  tall  Imposing  figure  of  the  colonel  moved  along- 
side the  man,  just  as  before.  Then,  suddenly,  the 
colonel  stopped,  and  rapidly  approached  a  man  In 
the  ranks. 

"  *  I'll  teach  you  to  hit  him  gently,'  I  heard  his 
furious  voice  say.  'Will  you  pat  him  like  that? 
Will  you? '  and  I  saw  how  his  strong  hand  In  the 
suede  glove  struck  the  weak,  bloodless,  terrified 
soldier  for  not  bringing  down  his  stick  with  suflSi- 
clent  strength  on  the  red  neck  of  the  Tartar. 

"  *  Bring  new  sticks !  '  he  cried,  and  looking 
round,  he  saw  me.  Assuming  an  air  of  not  know- 
ing me,  and  with  a  ferocious,  angry  frown,  he 
hastily  turned  away.  I  felt  so  uttefly  ashamed 
that  I  didn't  know  where  to  look.  It  was  as  If  I 
had  been  detected  in  a  disgraceful  act.  I  dropped 
my  eyes,  and  quickly  hurried  home.     All  the  way 


200  AFTER  THE  DANCE 

I  had  the  drums  beating  and  the  fifes  whistling  in 
my  ears.  And  I  heard  the  words,  *  Brothers,  have 
mercy  on  me!  '  or  'Will  you  pat  him?  Will 
you?  '  My  heart  was  full  of  physical  disgust  that 
was  almost  sickness.  So  much  so  that  I  halted  sev- 
eral times  on  my  way,  for  I  had  the  feeling  that  I 
was  going  to  be  really  sick  from  all  the  horrors 
that  possessed  me  at  that  sight.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber how  I  got  home  and  got  to  bed.  But  the  mo- 
ment I  was  about  to  fall  asleep  I  heard  and  saw 
again  all  that  had  happened,  and  I  sprang  up. 

"  '  Evidently  he  knows  something  I  do  not 
know,'  I  thought  about  the  colonel.  *  If  I  knew 
what  he  knows  I  should  certainly  grasp  —  under- 
stand —  what  I  have  just  seen,  and  it  would  not 
cause  me  such  suffering.' 

"  But  however  much  I  thought  about  it,  I  could 
not  understand  the  thing  that  the  colonel  knew. 
It  was  evening  before  I  could  get  to  sleep,  and  then 
only  after  calling  on  a  friend  and  drinking  till  I 
was  quite  drunk.  ^ 

*'  Do  you  think  I  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  deed  I  had  witnessed  was  wicked?  Oh,  no. 
Since  it  was  done  with  such  assurance,  and  was  rec- 
ognised by  every  one  as  indispensable,  they  doubt- 
less knew  something  which  I  did  not  know.  So  I 
thought,  and  tried  to  understand.  But  no  matter, 
I  could  never  understand  it,  then  or  afterwards. 


AFTER  THE  DANCE  201 

And  not  being  able  to  grasp  it,  I  could  not  enter 
the  service  as  I  had  intended.  I  don't  mean  only 
the  military  service :  I  did  not  enter  the  Civil  Serv- 
ice either.  And  so  I  have  been  of  no  use  whatever, 
as  you  can  see." 

"  Yes,  we  know  how  useless  you've  been,"  said 
one  of  us.  "  Tell  us,  rather,  how  many  people 
would  be  of  any  use  at  all  if  It  hadn't  been  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  that's  utter  nonsense,"  said  Ivan  Vasille- 
vich,  with  genuine  annoyance. 

"Well;  and  what  about  the  love  affair?" 

"My  love?  It  decreased  from  that  day. 
When,  as  often  happened,  she  looked  dreamy  and 
meditative,  I  instantly  recollected  the  colonel  on 
the  parade  ground,  and  I  felt  so  awkward  and 
uncomfortable  that  I  began  to  see  her  less  fre- 
quently. So  my  love  came  to  naught.  Yes ;  such 
chances  arise,  and  they  alter  and  direct  a  man's 
whole  life,"  he  said  In  summing  up.  "  And  you 
say     .     .     ." 


ALYOSHA  THE  POT 


ALYOSHA  THE  POT 

AlyoshA  was  the  younger  brother.  He  was 
called  the  Pot,  because  his  mother  had  once  sent 
him  with  a  pot  of  milk  to  the  deacon's  wife,  and  he 
had  stumbled  against  something  and  broken  it. 
His  mother  had  beaten  him,  and  the  children  had 
teased  him.  Since  then  he  was  nicknamed  the  Pot. 
Alyosha  was  a  tiny,  thin  little  fellow,  with  ears  like 
wings,  and  a  huge  nose.  "  Alyosha  has  a  nose  that 
looks  like  a  dog  on  a  hill !  '*  the  children  used  to 
call  after  him.  Alyosha  went  to  the  village 
school,  but  was  not  good  at  lessons;  besides,  there 
was  so  little  time  to  learn.  His  elder  brother  was 
in  town,  working  for  a  merchant,  so  Alyosha  had 
to  help  his  father  from  a  very  early  age.  When 
he  was  no  more  than  six  he  used  to  go  out  with  the 
girls  to  watch  the  cows  and  sheep  in  the  pasture, 
and  a  little  later  he  looked  after  the  horses  by 
day  and  by  night.  And  at  twelve  years  of  age  he 
had  already  begun  to  plough  and  to  drive  the  cart. 
The  skill  was  there  though  the  strength  was  not. 
He  was  always  cheerful.  Whenever  the  children 
made  fun  of  him,  he  would  either  laugh  or  be 
silent.     When  his  father  scolded  him  he  would 

205 


2o6  ALYOSHA  THE  POT 

stand  mute  and  listen  attentively,  and  as  soon  as 
the  scolding  was  over  would  smile  and  go  on  with 
his  work.  Alyosha  was  nineteen  when  his  brother 
was  taken  as  a  soldier.  So  his  father  placed  him 
with  the  merchant  as  a  yard-porter.  He  was  given 
his  brother's  old  boots,  his  father's  old  coat  and 
cap,  and  was  taken  to  town.  Alyosha  was  de- 
lighted with  his  clothes,  but  the  merchant  was  not 
impressed  by  his  appearance. 

"  I  thought  you  would  bring  me  a  man  in  Sime- 
on's place,"  he  said,  scanning  Alyosha;  *' and 
you've  brought  me  this/  What's  the  good  of 
him?" 

"  He  can  do  everything;  look  after  horses  and 
drive.  He's  a  good  one  to  work.  He  looks 
rather  thin,  but  he's  tough  enough.  And  he's  very 
willing." 

"  He  looks  It.  All  right;  we'll  see  what  we  can 
do  with  him." 

So  Alyosha  remained  at  the  merchant's. 

The  family  was  not  a  large  one.  It  consisted 
of  the  merchant's  wife :  her  old  mother :  a  married 
son  poorly  educated  who  was  in  his  father's  busi- 
ness: another  son,  a  learned  one  who  had  finished 
school  and  entered  the  University,  but  having  been 
expelled,  was  living  at  home :  and  a  daughter  who 
still  went  to  school. 

They  did  not  take  to  Alyosha  at  first.     He  was 


ALYOSHA  THE  POT  207 

uncouth,  badly  dressed,  and  had  no  manner,  but 
they  soon  got  used  to  him.  Alyosha  worked  even 
better  than  his  brother  had  done;  he  was  really 
very  willing.  They  sent  him  on  all  sorts  of  er- 
rands, but  he  did  everything  quickly  and  readily, 
going  from  one  task  to  another  without  stopping. 
And  so  here,  just  as  at  home,  all  the  work  was  put 
upon  his  shoulders.  The  more  he  did,  the  more 
he  was  given  to  do.  His  mistress,  her  old  mother, 
the  son,  the  daughter,  the  clerk,  and  the  cook  —  all 
ordered  him  about,  and  sent  him  from  one  place 
to  another. 

"Alyosha,  do  this  I  Alyosha,  do  that  I 
What !  have  you  forgotten,  Alyosha  ?  Mind  you 
don*t  forget,  Alyosha  I  "  was  heard  from  morning 
till  night.  And  Alyosha  ran  here,  looked  after  this 
and  that,  forgot  nothing,  found  tune  for  every- 
thing, and  was  always  cheerful. 

His  brother's  old  boots  were  soon  worn  out, 
and  his  master  scolded  him  for  going  about  In  tat- 
ters with  his  toes  sticking  out.  He  ordered  an- 
other pair  to  be  bought  for  him  In  the  market. 
Alyosha  was  delighted  with  his  new  boots,  but  was 
angry  with  his  feet  when  they  ached  at  the  end  of 
the  day  after  so  much  running  about.  And  then 
he  was  afraid  that  his  father  would  be  annoyed 
when  he  came  to  town  for  his  wages,  to  find  that 
his  master  had  deducted  the  cost  of  the  boots. 


208  ALYOSHA  THE  POT 

In  the  winter  Alyosha  used  to  get  up  before  day- 
break. He  would  chop  the  wood,  sweep  the  yard, 
feed  the  cows  and  horses,  light  the  stoves,  clean 
the  boots,  prepare  the  samovars  and  polish  them 
afterwards;  or  the  clerk  would  get  him  to  bring 
up  the  goods;  or  the  cook  would  set  him  to  knead 
the  bread  and  clean  the  saucepans.  Then  he  was 
sent  to  town  on  various  errands,  to  bring  the 
daughter  home  from  school,  or  to  get  some  olive 
oil  for  the  old  mother.  "  Why  the  devil  have 
you  been  so  long?  "  first  one,  then  another,  would 
say  to  him.  Why  should  they  go?  Alyosha  can 
go.  "  Alyosha !  Alyosha !  "  And  Alyosha  ran 
here  and  there.  He  breakfasted  in  snatches  while 
he  was  working,  and  rarely  managed  to  get  his 
dinner  at  the  proper  hour.  The  cook  used  to  scold 
him  for  being  late,  but  she  was  sorry  for  him  all 
the  same,  and  would  keep  something  hot  for  his 
dinner  and  supper. 

At  holiday  times  there  was  more  work  than  ever, 
but  Alyosha  liked  holidays  because  everybody  gave 
him  a  tip.  Not  much  certainly,  but  it  would 
amount  up  to  about  sixty  kopeks  [is  2d]  — his 
very  own  money.  For  Alyosha  never  set  eyes  on 
his  wages.  His  father  used  to  come  and  take  them 
from  the  merchant,  and  only  scold  Alyosha  for 
wearing  out  his  boots. 

When  he  had  saved  up  two  roubles  [4s],  by  the 


ALYOSHA  THE  POT  209 

advice  of  the  cook  he  bought  himself  a  red  knitted 
jacket,  and  was  so  happy  when  he  put  It  on,  that 
he  couldn^t  close  his  mouth  for  joy.  Alyosha  was 
not  talkative;  when  he  spoke  at  all,  he  spoke 
abruptly,  with  his  head  turned  away.  When  told 
to  do  anything,  or  asked  If  he  could  do  it,  he  would 
say  yes  without  the  smallest  hesitation,  and  set  to 
work  at  once. 

Alyosha  did  not  know  any  prayer;  and  had  for- 
gotten what  his  mother  had  taught  him.  But  he 
prayed  just  the  same,  every  morning  and  every 
evening,  prayed  with  his  hands,  crossing  himself. 

He  lived  like  this  for  about  a  year  and  a  half, 
and  towards  the  end  of  the  second  year  a  most 
startling  thing  happened  to  him.  He  discovered 
one  day,  to  his  great  surprise,  that.  In  addition  to 
the  relation  of  usefulness  existing  between  people, 
there  was  also  another,  a  peculiar  relation  of  quite 
a  different  character.  Instead  of  a  man  being 
wanted  to  clean  boots,  and  go  on  errands  and  har- 
ness horses,  he  Is  not  wanted  to  be  of  any  service 
at  all,  but  another  human  being  wants  to  serve  him 
and  pet  him.  Suddenly  Alyosha  felt  he  was  such 
a  man. 

He  made  this  discovery  through  the  cook  Us- 
tlnia.  She  was  young,  had  no  parents,  and  worked 
as  hard  as  Alyosha.  He  felt  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  that  he  —  not  his  services,  but  he  himself 


2IO  ALYOSHA  THE  POT 

—  was  necessary  to  another  human  being.  When 
his  mother  used  to  be  sorry  for  him,  he  had  taken 
no  notice  of  her.  It  had  seemed  to  him  quite 
natural,  as  though  he  were  feeling  sorry  for  him- 
self. But  here  was  Ustinia,  a  perfect  stranger, 
and  sorry  for  him.  She  would  save  him  some  hot 
porridge,  and  sit  watching  him,  her  chin  propped 
on  her  bare  arm,  with  the  sleeve  rolled  up,  while  he 
was  eating  it.  When  he  looked  at  her  she  would 
begin  to  laugh,  and  he  would  laugh  too. 

This  was  such  a  new,  strange  thing  to  him  that 
it  frightened  Alyosha.  He  feared  that  it  might 
interfere  with  his  work.  But  he  was  pleased,  nev- 
ertheless, and  when  he  glanced  at  the  trousers  that 
Ustinia  had  mended  for  him,  he  would  shake 
his  head  and  smile.  He  would  often  think  of  her 
while  at  work,  or  when  running  on  errands.  "  A 
fine  girl,  Ustinia !  ''  he  sometimes  exclaimed. 

Ustinia  used  to  help  him  whenever  she  could, 
and  he  helped  her.  She  told  him  all  about  her 
life;  how  she  had  lost  her  parents;  how  her  aunt 
had  taken  her  in  and  found  a  place  for  her  In  the 
town;  how  the  merchant's  son  had  tried  to  take  lib- 
erties with  her,  and  how  she  had  rebuffed  him. 
She  liked  to  talk,  and  Alyosha  liked  to  listen  to  her. 
He  had  heard  that  peasants  who  came  up  to  work 
in  the  towns  frequently  got  married  to  servant 
girls.     On  one  occasion  she  asked  him  if  his  par- 


ALYOSHA  THE  POT  211 

ents  intended  marrying  him  soon.  He  said  that 
he  did  not  know;  that  he  did  not  want  to  marry 
any  of  the  village  girls. 

**  Have  you  taken  a  fancy  to  some  one,  then?  " 

"  I  would  marry  you,  if  you'd  be  willing.'* 

"  Get  along  with  you,  Alyosha  the  Pot;  but 
youVe  found  your  tongue,  haven't  you?  "  she  ex- 
claimed, slapping  him  on  the  back  with  a  towel  she 
held  in  her  hand.     ''  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 

At  Shrovetide  Alyosha's  father  came  to  town  for 
his  wages.  It  had  come  to  the  ears  of  the  mer- 
chant's wife  that  Alyosha  wanted  to  marry  Ustinia, 
a4id  she  disapproved  of  it.  "  What  will  be  the 
use  of  her  with  a  baby?"  she  thought,  and  in- 
formed her  husband. 

The  merchant  gave  the  old  man  Alyosha's 
wages. 

*'  How  is  my  lad  getting  on?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
told  you  he  was  willing." 

*'  That's  all  right,  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  he's 
taken  some  sort  of  nonsense  into  his  head.  He 
wants  to  marry  our  cook.  Now  I  don't  approve 
of  married,  servants.  We  won't  have  them  In  the 
house." 

"  Well,  now,  who  would  have  thought  the  fool 
would  think  of  such  a  thing?"  the  old  man  ex- 
claimed. *'  But  don't  you  worry.  I'll  soon  settle 
that." 


212  ALYOSHA  THE  POT 

He  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  sat  down  at 
the  table  waiting  for  his  son.  Alyosha  was  out 
on  an  errand,  and  came  back  breathless. 

"  I  thought  you  had  some  sense  in  you ;  but 
what's  this  you've  taken  into  your  head?"  his 
father  began. 

"I?     Nothing." 

"How,  nothing?  They  tell  me  you  want  to 
get  married.  You  shall  get  married  when  the  time 
comes.  I'll  find  you  a  decent  wife,  not  some  town 
hussy." 

His  father  talked  and  talked,  while  Alyosha 
stood  still  and  sighed.  When  his  father  had  quite 
finished,  Alyosha  smiled. 

"  All  right.     I'll  drop  it." 

"  Now  that's  what  I  call  sense." 

When  he  was  left  alone  with  Ustinia  he  told  her 
what  his  father  had  said.  (She  had  listened  at 
the  door.) 

"  It's  no  good ;  it  can't  come  off.  Did  you  hear  ? 
He  was   angry  —  won't  have   it  at  any  price.'* 

Ustinia  cried  into  her  apron. 

Alyosha  shook  his  head. 

"What's  to  be  done?  We  must  do  as  we're 
told." 

"  Well,  are  you  going  to  give  up  that  nonsense, 
as  your  father  told  you?"  his  mistress  asked,  as 
he  was  putting  up  the  shutters  in  the  evening. 


ALYOSHA  THE  POT  213 

"  To  be  sure  we  are,"  Alyosha  replied  with  a 
smile,  and  then  burst  into  tears. 

From  that  day  Alyosha  went  about  his  work  as 
usual,  and  no  longer  talked  to  Ustinia  about  their 
getting  married.  One  day  in  Lent  the  clerk  told 
him  to  clear  the  snow  from  the  roof.  Alyosha 
climbed  on  to  the  roof  and  swept  away  all  the 
snow;  and,  while  he  was  still  raking  out  some 
frozen  lumps  from  the  gutter,  his  foot  slipped  and 
he  fell  over.  Unfortunately  he  did  not  fall  on  the 
snow,  but  on  a  piece  of  iron  over  the  door.  Us- 
tinia came  running  up,  together  with  the  mer- 
chant's daughter. 

"Have  you  hurt  yourself,  Alyosha?" 

"  Ah  I  no,  it's  nothing." 

But  he  could  not  raise  himself  when  he  tried 
to,  and  began  to  smile. 

He  was  taken  into  the  lodge.  The  doctor  ar- 
rived, examined  him,  and  asked  where  he  felt  the 
pain. 

"  I  feel  it  all  over,"  he  said.  "  But  it  doesn't 
matter.  I'm  only  afraid  master  will  be  annoyed. 
Father  ought  to  be  told." 

Alyosha  lay  in  bed  for  two  days,  and  on  the  third 
day  they  sent  for  the  priest. 

"  Are  you  really  going  to  die?  "  Ustinia  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  am.     You  can't  go  on  living  for 


214  ALYOSHA  THE  POT 

ever.  You  must  go  when  the  time  comes."  Aly- 
osha  spoke  rapidly  as  usual.  "  Thank  you,  Us- 
tina.  YouVe  been  very  good  to  me.  What  a 
lucky  thing  they  didn't  let  us  marry!  Where 
should  we  have  been  now?     It*s  much  better  as  it 

IS." 

When  the  priest  came,  he  prayed  with  his  hands 
and  with  his  heart.  *'  As  It  Is  good  here  when  you 
obey  and  do  no  harm  to  others,  so  It  will  be  there," 
was  the  thought  within  It. 

He  spoke  very  little ;  he  only  said  he  was  thirsty, 
and  he  seemed  full  of  wonder  at  something. 

He  lay  in  wonderment,  then  stretched  himself, 
and  died. 


MY   DREAM 


MY   DREAM 

"  As  a  daughter  she  no  longer  exists  for  me. 
Can't  you  understand?  She  simply  doesn't  ex- 
ist. Still,  I  cannot  possibly  leave  her  to  the  char- 
ity of  strangers.  I  will  arrange  things  so  that 
she  can  live  as  she  pleases,  but  I  do  not  wish  to 
hear  of  her.  Who  would  ever  have  thought 
.     .     .     the  horror  of  It,  the  horror  of  It." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  his  head,  and 
raised  his  eyes.  These  words  were  spoken  by 
Prince  Michael  Ivanovlch  to  his  brother  Peter, 
who  was  governor  of  a  province  In  Central  Rus- 
sia. Prince  Peter  was  a  man  of  fifty,  Michael's 
junior  by  ten  years. 

On  discovering  that  his  daughter,  who  had  left 
his  house  a  year  before,  had  settled  here  with  her 
child,  the  elder  brother  had  come  from  St.  Peters- 
burg to  the  provincial  town,  where  the  above  con- 
versation took  place. 

Prince  Michael  Ivanovlch  was  a  tall,  handsome, 
white-haired,  fresh  coloured  man,  proud  and  at- 
tractive In  appearance  and  bearing.  His  family 
consisted  of  a  vulgar.  Irritable  wife,  who  wran- 
gled with  him  continually  over  every  petty  detail, 

217 


2i8  MY  DREAM 

"  a  son,  a  ne'er-do-well,  spendthrift  and  roue  — ■ 
yet  a  "  gentleman,''  according  to  his  father's  code, 
two  daughters,  of  whom  the  elder  had  married 
well,  and  was  living  in  St.  Petersburg;  and  the 
younger,  Lisa  —  his  favourite,  who  had  disap- 
peared from  home  a  year  before.  Only  a  short 
while  ago  he  had  found  her  with  her  child  in  this 
provincial  town. 

Prince  Peter  wanted  to  ask  his  brother  how, 
and  under  what  circumstances,  Lisa  had  left 
home,  and  who  could  possibly  be  the  father  of  her 
child.  But  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  in- 
quire. 

That  very  morning,  when  his  wife  had  at- 
tempted to  condole  with  her  brother-in-law.  Prince 
Peter  had  observed  a  look  of  pain  on  his  brother's 
face.  The  look  had  at  once  been  masked  by  an 
expression  of  unapproachable  pride,  and  he  had 
begun  to  question  her  about  their  flat,  and  the 
price  she  paid.  At  luncheon,  before  the  family 
and  guests,  he  had  been  witty  and  sarcastic  as 
usual.  Towards  every  one,  excepting  the  chil- 
dren, whom  he  treated  with  almost  reverent  ten- 
derness, he  adopted  an  attitude  of  distant  hauteur. 
And  yet  it  was  so  natural  to  him  that  every  one 
somehow  acknowledged  his  right  to  be  haughty. 

In  the  evening  his  brother  arranged  a  game  of 
whist.     When  he  retired  to  the  room  which  had 


MY  DREAM  219 

been  made  ready  for  him,  and  was  just  beginning 
to  take  out  his  artificial  teeth,  some  one  tapped 
lightly  on  the  door  with  two  fingers. 

"Who  is  that?" 

''  Cest  moi,  Michael." 

Prince  Michael  Ivanovich  recognised  the  voice 
of  his  sister-in-law,  frowned,  replaced  his  teeth, 
and  said  to  himself,  "What  does  she  want?" 
Aloud  he  said,  ''  EntrezJ* 

His  sister-in-law  was  a  quiet,  gentle  creature, 
who  bowed  in  submission  to  her  husband's  will. 
But  to  many  she  seemed  a  crank,  and  some  did 
not  hesitate  to  call  her  a  fool.  She  was  pretty, 
but  her  hair  was  always  carelessly  dressed,  and  she 
herself  was  untidy  and  absent-minded.  She  had, 
also,  the  strangest,  most  unaristocratic  ideas,  by  no 
means  fitting  in  the  wife  of  a  high  official.  These 
ideas  she  would  express  most  unexpectedly,  to 
everybody's  astonishment,  her  husband's  no  less 
than  her  friends'. 

*'  Vous  pouvez  me  renvoyer,  mais  je  ne  m!en 
irai  pas,  J€  vous  le  dis  dJavancey  she  began,  in  her 
characteristic,  indifferent  way. 

'^  D'leu  preserve^  answered  her  brother-in-law, 
with  his  usual  somewhat  exaggerated  politeness, 
and  brought  forward  a  chair  for  her. 

''  Ca  ne  vous  derange  pasf  she  asked,  taking 
out  a  cigarette.     "  I'm  not  going  to  say  anything 


220  MY  DREAM 

unpleasant,  Michael.  I  only  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing about  Lisochka." 

Michael  Ivanovlch  sighed  —  the  word  pained 
him;  but  mastering  himself  at  once,  he  answered 
with  a  tired  smile.  "  Our  conversation  can  only 
be  on  one  subject,  and  that  Is  the  subject  you  wish 
to  discuss."  He  spoke  without  looking  at  her, 
and  avoided  even  naming  the  subject.  But  his 
plump,  pretty  little  sister-ln-law  was  unabashed. 
She  continued  to  regard  him  with  the  same  gentle, 
imploring  look  In  her  blue  eyes,  sighing  even  more 
deeply. 

"  Michael,  mon  hon  ami,  have  pity  on  her. 
She  Is  only  human." 

"  I  never  doubted  that,"  said  Michael  Ivano- 
vlch with  a  bitter  smile. 

"  She  Is  your  daughter." 

"  She  was  —  but  my  dear  Aline,  why  talk  about 
this?" 

"  Michael,  dear,  won't  you  see  her?  I  only 
wanted  to  say,  that  the  one  who  Is  to  blame  —  " 

Prince  Michael  Ivanovlch  flushed;  his  face  be- 
came cruel. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  let  us  stop.  I  have  suf- 
fered enough.  I  have  now  but  one  desire,  and 
that  Is  to  put  her  in  such  a  position  that  she  will 
be  independent  of  others,  and  that  she  shall  have 
no  further  need  of  communicating  with  me.     Then 


MY  DREAM  221 

she  can  live  her  own  life,  and  my  family  and  I 
need  know  nothing  more  about  her.  That  is  all 
I  can  do." 

"  Michael,  you  say  nothing  but  *  I '  I     She,  too, 

is  *  i; " 

"  No  doubt;  but,  dear  Aline,  please  let  us  drop 
the  matter.     I  feel  it  too  deeply.'* 

Alexandra  Dmitrievna  remained  silent  for  a 
few  moments,  shaking  her  head.  "  And  Masha, 
your  wife,  thinks  as  you  do?  " 

"  Yes,  quite.'' 

Alexandra  Dmitrievna  made  an  inarticulate 
sound. 

''  Brisons  la  dessus  et  bonne  nuit/^  said  he. 
But  she  did  not  go.  She  stood  silent  a  moment. 
Then,  — 

**  Peter  tells  me  you  intend  to  leave  the  money 
with  the  woman  where  she  lives.  Have  you  the 
address?  " 

''  I  have." 

"  Don't  leave  it  with  the  woman,  Michael ! 
Go  yourself.  Just  see  how  she  lives.  If  you 
don't  want  to  see  her,  you  need  not.  He  isn't 
there;  there  is  no  one  there." 

Michael  Ivanovich  shuddered  violently. 

"Why  do  you  torture  me  so?  It's  a  sin 
against  hospitality!  " 

Alexandra    Dmitrievna    rose,    and    almost    in 


222  MY  DREAM 

tears,  being  touched  by  her  own  pleading,  said, 
*'  She  is  so  miserable,  but  she  is  such  a  dear." 

He  got  up,  and  stood  waiting  for  her  to  finish. 
She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Michael,  you  do  wrong,"  said  she,  and  left 
him. 

For  a  long  while  after  she  had  gone  Michael 
Ivanovich  walked  to  and  fro  on  the  square  of 
carpet.  He  frowned  and  shivered,  and  ex- 
claimed, *'  Oh,  oh!  "  And  then  the  sound  of  his 
own  voice  frightened  him,  and  he  was  silent. 

His  wounded  pride  tortured  him.  His  daugh- 
ter—  his  —  brought  up  in  the  house  of  her 
mother,  the  famous  Avdotia  Borisovna,  whom  the 
Empress  honoured  with  her  visits,  and  acquaint- 
ance with  whom  was  an  honour  for  all  the  world  I 
His  daughter  — ;  and  he  had  lived  his  life  as  a 
knight  of  old,  knowing  neither  fear  nor  blame. 
The  fact  that  he  had  a  natural  son  born  of  a 
Frenchwoman,  whom  he  had  settled  abroad,  did 
not  lower  his  own  self-esteem.  And  now  this 
daughter,  for  whom  he  had  not  only  done  every- 
thing that  a  father  could  and  should  do;  this 
daughter  to  whom  he  had  given  a  splendid  educa- 
tion and  every  opportunity  to  make  a  match  in  the 
best  Russian  society  —  this  daughter  to  whom  he 
had  not  only  given  all  that  a  girl  could  desire,  but 
whom  he  had  really  loved;  whom  he  had  admired, 


MY  DREAM  223 

been  proud  of  —  this  daughter  had  repaid  him 
with  such  disgrace,  that  he  was  ashamed  and  could 
not  face  the  eyes  of  men ! 

He  recalled  the  time  when  she  was  not  merely 
his  child,  and  a  member  of  his  family,  but  his 
darling,  his  joy  and  his  pride.  He  saw  her  again, 
a  little  thing  of  eight  or  nine,  bright,  intelligent, 
lively,  impetuous,  graceful,  with  brilliant  black 
eyes  and  flowing  auburn  hair.  He  remembered 
how  she  used  to  jump  up  on  his  knees  and  hug 
him,  and  tickle  his  neck;  and  how  she  would  laugh, 
regardless  of  his  protests,  and  continue  to  tickle 
him,  and  kiss  his  lips,  his  eyes,  and  his  cheeks. 
He  was  naturally  opposed  to  all  demonstration, 
but  this  impetuous  love  moved  him,  and  he  often 
submitted  to  her  petting.  He  remembered  also 
how  sweet  it  was  to  caress  her.  To  remember 
all  this,  when  that  sweet  child  had  become  what 
she  now  was,  a  creature  of  whom  he  could  not 
think  without  loathing. 

He  also  recalled  the  time  when  she  was  growing 
into  womanhood,  and  the  curious  feeling  of  fear 
and  anger  that  he  experienced  when  he  became 
aware  that  men  regarded  her  as  a  woman.  He 
thought  of  his  jealous  love  when  she  came  coquet- 
tishly  to  him  dressed  for  a  ball,  and  knowing  that 
she  was  pretty.  He  dreaded  the  passionate 
glances  which  fell  upon  her,  that  she  not  only  did 


224  MY  DREAM 

not  understand  but  rejoiced  In.  "  Yes,"  thought 
he,  "that  superstition  of  woman's  purity!  Quite 
the  contrary,  they  do  not  know  shame  —  they  lack 
this  sense."  He  remembered  how,  quite  Inexpli- 
cably to  him,  she  had  refused  two  very  good  suit- 
ors. She  had  become  more  and  more  fascinated 
by  her  own  success  In  the  round  of  gaieties  she 
lived  In. 

But  this  success  could  not  last  long.  A  year 
passed,  then  two,  then  three.  She  was  a  familiar 
figure,  beautiful  —  but  her  first  youth  had  passed, 
and  she  had  become  somehow  part  of  the  ball- 
room furniture.  Michael  Ivanovlch  remembered 
how  he  had  realised  that  she  was  on  the  road  to 
splnsterhood,  and  desired  but  one  thing  for  her. 
He  must  get  her  married  off  as  quickly  as  possible, 
perhaps  not  quite  so  well  as  might  have  been  ar- 
ranged earlier,  but  still  a  respectable  match. 

But  It  seemed  to  him  she  had  behaved  with  a 
pride  that  bordered  on  Insolence.  Remembering 
this,  his  anger  rose  more  and  more  fiercely  against 
her.  To  think  of  her  refusing  so  many  decent 
men,  only  to  end  in  this  disgrace.  "  Oh,  oh !  "  he 
groaned  again. 

Then  stopping,  he  lit  a  cigarette,  and  tried  to 
think  of  other  things.  He  would  send  her  money, 
without  ever  letting  her  see  him.  But  memories 
came  again.     He  remembered  —  it  was  not  so 


MY  DREAM  225 

very  long  ago,  for  she  was  more  than  twenty  then 
—  her  beginning  a  flirtation  with  a  boy  of  four- 
teen, a  cadet  of  the  Corps  of  Pages  who  had  been 
staying  with  them  in  the  country.  She  had  driven 
the  boy  half  crazy;  he  had  wept  in  his  distraction. 
Then  how  she  had  rebuked  her  father  severely, 
coldly,  and  even  rudely,  when,  to  put  an  end  to 
this  stupid  affair,  he  had  sent  the  boy  away.  She 
seemed  somehow  to  consider  herself  insulted. 
Since  then  father  and  daughter  had  drifted  into 
undisguised  hostility. 

"  I  was  right,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  She  is  a 
wicked  and  shameless  woman." 

And  then,  as  a  last  ghastly  memory,  there  was 
the  letter  from  Moscow,  In  which  she  wrote  that 
she  could  not  return  home;  that  she  was  a  miser- 
able, abandoned  woman,  asking  only  to  be  for- 
given and  forgotten.  Then  the  horrid  recollec- 
tion of  the  scene  with  his  wife  came  to  him ;  their 
surmises  and  their  suspicions,  which  became  a  cer- 
tainty. The  calamity  had  happened  in  Finland, 
where  they  had  let  her  visit  her  aunt;  and  the 
culprit  was  an  insignificant  Swede,  a  student,  an 
empty-headed,  worthless  creature  —  and  married. 

All  this  came  back  to  him  now  as  he  paced 
backwards  and  forwards  on  the  bedroom  carpet, 
recollecting  his  former  love  for  her,  his  pride  In 
her.     He  recoiled  with  terror  before  the  incom- 


226  MY  DREAM 

prehensible  fact  of  her  downfall,  and  he  hated  her 
for  the  agony  she  was  causing  him.  He  remem- 
bered the  conversation  with  his  sister-in-law,  and 
tried  to  imagine  how  he  might  forgive  her.  But 
as  soon  as  the  thought  of  "  him  "  arose,  there 
surged  up  In  his  heart  horror,  disgust,  and  wounded 
pride.  He  groaned  aloud,  and  tried  to  think  of 
something  else. 

"  No,  it  is  impossible ;  I  will  hand  over  the 
money  to  Peter  to  give  her  monthly.  And  as  for 
me,  I  have  no  longer  a  daughter." 

And  again  a  curious  feeling  overpowered  him: 
a  mixture  of  self-pity  at  the  recollection  of  his 
love  for  her,  and  of  fury  against  her  for  causing 
him  this  anguish. 


II 

During  the  last  year  Lisa  had  without  doubt 
lived  through  more  than  in  all  the  preceding 
twenty-five.  Suddenly  she  had  realised  the  empti- 
ness of  her  whole  life.  It  rose  before  her,  base 
and  sordid  —  this  life  at  home  and  among  the  rich 
set  in  St.  Petersburg  —  this  animal  existence  that 
never  sounded  the  depths,  but  only  touched  the 
shallows  of  life. 

It  was  well  enough  for  a  year  or  two,  or  per- 
haps even  three.     But  when  It  went  on  for  seven 


MY  DREAM  227 

or  eight  years,  with  Its  parties,  balls,  concerts, 
and  suppers;  with  Its  costumes  and  coiffures  to 
display  the  charms  of  the  body;  with  its  adorers 
old  and  young,  all  alike  seemingly  possessed  of 
some  unaccountable  right  to  have  everything,  to 
laugh  at  everything;  and  with  Its  summer  months 
spent  In  the  same  way,  everything  yielding  but  a 
superficial  pleasure,  even  music  and  reading  merely 
touching  upon  life's  problems,  but  never  solving 
them  —  all  this  holding  out  no  promise  of  change, 
and  losing  Its  charm  more  and  more  —  she  began 
to  despair.  She  had  desperate  moods  when  she 
longed  to  die. 

Her  friends  directed  her  thoughts  to  charity. 
On  the  one  hand,  she  saw  poverty  which  was  real 
and  repulsive,  and  a  sham  poverty  even  more  re- 
pulsive and  pitiable;  on  the  other,  she  saw  the  ter- 
rible Indifference  of  the  lady  patronesses  who  came 
in  carriages  and  gowns  worth  thousands.  Life 
became  to  her  more  and  more  unbearable.  She 
yearned  for  something  real,  for  life  itself  —  not 
this  playing  at  living,  not  this  skimming  life  of  its 
cream.  Of  real  life  there  was  none.  The  best 
of  her  memories  was  her  love  for  the  little  cadet 
Koko.  That  had  been  a  good,  honest,  straight- 
forward impulse,  and  now  there  was  nothing  like 
it.  There  could  not  be.  She  grew  more  and 
more  depressed,  and  in  this  gloomy  mood  she 


228  MY  DREAM 

went  to  visit  an  aunt  In  Finland.  The  fresh 
scenery  and  surroundings,  the  people  strangely 
different  to  her  own,  appealed  to  her  at  any  rate 
as  a  new  experience. 

How  and  when  It  all  began  she  could  not 
clearly  remember.  Her  aunt  had  another  guest, 
a  Swede.  He  talked  of  his  work,  his  people,  the 
latest  Swedish  novel.  Somehow,  she  herself  did 
not  know  how  that  terrible  fascination  of  glances 
and  smiles  began,  the  meaning  of  which  cannot  be 
put  Into  words. 

These  smiles  and  glances  seemed  to  reveal  to 
each,  not  only  the  soul  of  the  other,  but  some 
vital  and  universal  mystery.  Every  word  they 
spoke  was  Invested  by  these  smiles  with  a  pro- 
found and  wonderful  significance.  Music,  too, 
when  they  were  listening  together,  or  when  they 
sang  duets,  became  full  of  the  same  deep  meaning. 
So,  also,  the  words  in  the  books  they  read  aloud. 
Sometimes  they  would  argue,  but  the  moment 
their  eyes  met,  or  a  smile  flashed  between  them, 
the  discussion  remained  far  behind.  They  soared 
beyond  It  to  some  higher  plane  consecrated  to 
themselves. 

How  It  had  come  about,  how  and  when  the' 
devil,  who  had  seized  hold  of  them  both,  first 
appeared  behind  these   smiles   and   glances,    she 
could  not  say.     But,  when  terror  first  seized  her, 


MY  DREAM  229 

the  invisible  threads  that  bound  them  were  already 
so  Interwoven  that  she  had  no  power  to  tear  her- 
self free.  She  could  only  count  on  him  and  on 
his  honour.  She  hoped  that  he  would  not  make 
use  of  his  power;  yet  all  the  while  she  vaguely  de- 
sired It. 

Her  weakness  was  the  greater,  because  she  had 
nothing  to  support  her  In  the  struggle.  She  was 
weary  of  society  life  and  she  had  no  affection  for 
her  mother.  Her  father,  so  she  thought,  had 
cast  her  away  from  him,  and  she  longed  passion- 
ately to  live  and  to  have  done  with  play.  Love, 
the  perfect  love  of  a  woman  for  a  man,  held  the 
promise  of  life  for  her.  Her  strong,  passionate 
nature,  too,  was  dragging  her  thither.  In  the  tall, 
strong  figure  of  this  man,  with  his  fair  hair  and 
light  upturned  moustache,  under  which  shone  a 
smile  attractive  and  compelling,  she  saw  the  prom- 
ise of  that  life  for  which  she  longed.  And  then 
the  smiles  and  glances,  the  hope  of  something  so 
Incredibly  beautiful,  led,  as  they  were  bound  to 
lead,  to  that  which  she  feared  but  unconsciously 
awaited. 

Suddenly  all  that  was  beautiful,  joyous,  spir- 
itual, and  full  of  promise  for  the  future,  became 
animal  and  sordid,  sad  and  despairing. 

She  looked  Into  his  eyes  and  tried  to  smile, 
pretending  that  she  feared  nothing,  that  every- 


230  MY  DREAM 

thing  was  as  it  should  be;  but  deep  down  in  her 
soul  she  knew  it  was  all  over.  She  understood 
that  she  had  not  found  in  him  what  she  had 
sought;  that  which  she  had  once  known  in  herself 
and  in  Koko.  She  told  him  that  he  must  write  to 
her  father  asking  her  hand  in  marriage.  This  he 
promised  to  do;  but  when  she  met  him  next  he  said 
It  was  impossible  for  him  to  write  just  then.  She 
saw  something  vague  and  furtive  in  his  eyes,  and 
her  distrust  of  him  grew.  The  following  day  he 
wrote  to  her,  telling  her  that  he  was  already  mar- 
ried, though  his  wife  had  left  him  long  since; 
that  he  knew  she  would  despise  him  for  the  wrong 
he  had  done  her,  and  implored  her  forgiveness. 
She  made  him  come  to  see  her.  She  said  she 
loved  him ;  that  she  felt  herself  bound  to  him  for 
ever  whether  he  was  married  or  not,  and  would 
never  leave  him.  The  next  time  they  met  he  told 
her  that  he  and  his  parents  were  so  poor  that  he 
could  only  offer  her  the  meanest  existence.  She 
answered  that  she  needed  nothing,  and  was  ready 
fo  go  with  him  at  once  wherever  he  wished.  He 
endeavoured  to  dissuade  her,  advising  her  to  wait; 
and  so  she  waited.  But  to  live  on  with  this  se- 
cret, with  occasional  meetings,  and  merely  cor- 
responding with  him,  all  hidden  from  her  family, 
was  agonising,  and  she  insisted  again  that  he  must 
take  her  away.     At  first,  when  she  returned  to  St. 


MY  DREAM  231 

Petersburg,  he  wrote  promising  to  come,  and  then 
letters  ceased  and  she  knew  no  more  of  him. 

She  tried  to  lead  her  old  life,  but  it  was  im- 
possible. She  fell  ill,  and  the  efforts  of  the  doc- 
tors were  unavailing;  in  her  hopelessness  she 
resolved  to  kill  herself.  But  how  was  she  to  do 
this,  so  that  her  death  might  seem  natural?  She 
really  desired  to  take  her  life,  and  imagined  that 
she  had  irrevocably  decided  on  the  step.  So,  ob- 
taining some  poison,  she  poured  It  Into  a  glass, 
and  in  another  Instant  would  have  drunk  It,  had 
not  her  sister's  Httle  son  of  five  at  that  very  mo- 
ment run  In  to  show  her  a  toy  his  grandmother  had 
given  him.  She  caressed  the  child,  and,  suddenly 
stopping  short,  burst  Into  tears. 

The  thought  overpowered  her  that  she,  too, 
might  have  been  a  mother  had  he  not  been  mar- 
ried, and  this  vision  of  motherhood  made  her  look 
into  her  own  soul  for  the  first  time.  She  began  to 
think  not  of  what  others  would  say  of  her,  but  of 
her  own  life.  To  kill  oneself  because  of  what 
the  world  might  say  was  easy;  but  the  moment  she 
saw  her  own  life  dissociated  from  the  world,  to 
take  that  life  was  out  of  the  question.  She  threw 
away  the  poison,  and  ceased  to  think  of  sui- 
cide. 

Then  her  life  within  began.  It  was  real  life, 
and  despite  the  torture  of  It,  had  the  possibility 


232  MY  DREAM 

been  given  her,  she  would  not  have  turned  back 
from  it.  She  began  to  pray,  but  there  was  no 
comfort  in  prayer;  and  her  suffering  was  less  for 
herself  than  for  her  father,  whose  grief  she  fore- 
saw and  understood. 

Thus  months  dragged  along,  and  then  some- 
thing happened  which  entirely  transformed  her 
life.  One  day,  when  she  was  at  work  upon  a 
quilt,  she  suddenly  experienced  a  strange  sensa- 
tion. No  —  it  seemed  impossible.  Motionless 
she  sat  with  her  work  in  hand.  Was  it  possi- 
ble that  this  was  It,  Forgetting  everything,  his 
baseness  and  deceit,  her  mother's  querulousness, 
and  her  father's  sorrow,  she  smiled.  She  shud- 
dered at  the  recollection  that  she  was  on  the  point 
of  killing  it,  together  with  herself. 

She  now  directed  all  her  thoughts  to  getting 
away  —  somewhere  where  she  could  bear  her 
child  —  and  become  a  miserable,  pitiful  mother, 
but  a  mother  withal.  Somehow  she  planned  and 
arranged  it  all,  leaving  her  home  and  settling  in  a 
distant  provincial  town,  where  no  one  could  find 
her,  and  where  she  thought  she  would  be  far  from 
her  people.  But,  unfortunately,  her  father's 
brother  received  an  appointment  there,  a  thing  she 
could  not  possibly  foresee.  For  four  months  she 
had  been  living  in  the  house  of  a  midwife  —  one 
Maria  Ivanovna;  and,  on  learning  that  her  uncle 


MY  DREAM  233 

had  come  to  the  town,  she  was  preparing  to  fly  to 
a  still  remoter  hiding-place. 


Ill 

Michael  Ivanovich  awoke  early  next  morning. 
He  entered  his  brother's  study,  and  handed  him 
the  cheque,  filled  in  for  a  sum  which  he  asked  him 
to  pay  in  monthly  instalments  to  his  daughter. 
He  inquired  when  the  express  left  for  St.  Peters- 
burg. The  train  left  at  seven  in  the  evening, 
giving  him  time  for  an  early  dinner  before  leav- 
ing. He  breakfasted  with  his  sister-in-law,  who 
refrained  from  mentioning  the  subject  which  was 
so  painful  to  him,  but  only  looked  at  him  timidly; 
and  after  breakfast  he  went  out  for  his  regular 
morning  walk. 

Alexandra  Dmitrievna  followed  him  into  the 
hall. 

'*  Go  into  the  public  gardens,  Michael  —  it  is 
very  charming  there,  and  quite  near  to  Every- 
thing," said  she,  meeting  his  sombre  looks  with  a 
pathetic  glance. 

Michael  Ivanovich  followed  her  advice  and 
went  to  the  public  gardens,  which  were  so  near  to 
Everything,  and  meditated  with  annoyance  on  the 
stupidity,  the  obstinacy,  and  heartlessness  of 
women. 


234  MY  DREAM 

"  She  is  not  in  the  very  least  sorry  for  me,"  he 
thought  of  his  sister-in-law.  "  She  cannot  even 
understand  my  sorrow.  And  what  of  her?'* 
He  was  thinking  of  his  daughter.  "  She  knows 
what  all  this  means  to  me  —  the  torture.  What 
a  blow  in  one's  old  age !  My  days  will  be  short- 
ened by  it!  But  I'd  rather  have  it  over  than 
endure  this  agony.  And  all  that  '  pour  les  beaux 
yeux  d'un  chenapan*  —  oh!"  he  moaned;  and  a 
wave  of  hatred  and  fury  arose  in  him  as  he 
thought  of  what  would  be  said  in  the  town  when 
every  one  knew.  (And  no  doubt  every  one  knew 
already.)  Such  a  feeling  of  rage  possessed  him 
that  he  would  have  liked  to  beat  it  into  her  head, 
and  make  her  understand  what  she  had  done. 
These  women  never  understand.  "  It  is  quite 
near  Everything,"  suddenly  came  to  his  mind,  and 
getting  out  his  notebook,  he  found  her  address. 
Vera  Ivanovna  Silvestrova,  Kukonskaya  Street, 
Abromov's  house.  She  was  living  under  this 
name.     He  left  the  gardens  and  called  a  cab. 

*' Whom  do  you  wish  to  see,  sir?"  asked  the 
midwife,  Maria  Ivanovna,  when  he  stepped  on 
the  narrow  landing  of  the  steep,  stuffy  staircase. 

"Does  Madame  Silvestrova  live  here?" 

"Vera  Ivanovna?  Yes;  please  come  in.  She 
has  gone  out;  she's  gone  to  the  shop  round  the 
corner.     But  she'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 


MY  DREAM  235 

Michael  Ivanovlch  followed  the  stout  figure  of 
Maria  Ivanovna  into  a  tiny  parlour,  and  from  the 
next  room  came  the  screams  of  a  baby,  sounding 
cross  and  peevish,  which  filled  him  with  disgust. 
They  cut  him  like  a  knife. 

Maria  Ivanovna  apologised,  and  went  into  the 
room,  and  he  could  hear  her  soothing  the  child. 
The  child  became  quiet,  and  she  returned. 

*'  That  is  her  baby;  she'll  be  back  in  a  minute. 
You  are  a  friend  of  hers,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes  —  a  friend  —  but  I  think  I  had  better 
come  back  later  on,"  said  Michael  Ivanovlch,  pre- 
paring to  go.  It  was  too  unbearable,  this  prep- 
aration to  meet  her,  and  any  explanation  seemed 
impossible. 

He  had  just  turned  to  leave,  when  he  heard 
quick,  light  steps  on  the  stairs,  and  he  recognised 
Lisa's  voice. 

'*  Maria  Ivanovna  —  has  he  been  crying  while 
I've  been  gone  —  I  was  —  " 

Then  she  saw  her  father.  The  parcel  she  was 
carrying  fell  from  her  hands. 

"  Father!  "  she  cried,  and  stopped  in  the  door- 
way, white  and  trembling. 

He  remained  motionless,  staring  at  her.  She 
had  grown  so  thin.  Her  eyes  were  larger,  her 
nose  sharper,  her  hands  worn  and  bony.  He 
neither  knew  what  to  do,  nor  what  to  say.     He 


236  MY  DREAM 

forgot  all  his  grief  about  his  dishonour.  He  only 
felt  sorrow,  Infinite  sorrow  for  her;  sorrow  for 
her  thinness,  and  for  her  miserable  rough  cloth- 
ing; and  most  of  all,  for  her  pitiful  face  and  im- 
ploring eyes. 

"  Father —  forgive,"  she  said,  moving  towards 
him. 

''Forgive  —  forgive  me,''  he  murmured;  and 
he  began  to  sob  like  a  child,  kissing  her  face  and 
hands,  and  wetting  them  with  his  tears. 

In  his  pity  for  her  he  understood  himself.  And 
when  he  saw  himself  as  he  was,  he  realised  how 
he  had  wronged  her,  how  guilty  he  had  been  in 
his  pride.  In  his  coldness,  even  in  his  anger  towards 
her.  He  was  glad  that  it  was  he  who  was  guilty, 
and  that  he  had  nothing  to  forgive,  but  that  he 
himself  needed  forgiveness.  She  took  him  to  her 
tiny  room,  and  told  him  how  she  lived;  but  she 
did  not  show  him  the  child,  nor  did  she  mention 
the  past,  knowing  how  painful  it  would  be  to  him. 

He  told  her  that  she  must  live  differently. 

"  Yes;  If  I  could  only  live  in  the  country,"  said 
she. 

*'  We  will  talk  It  over,"  he  said.  Suddenly 
the  child  began  to  wail  and  to  scream.  She 
opened  her  eyes  very  wide;  and,  not  taking  them 
from  her  father's  face,  remained  hesitating  and 
motionless. 


MY  DREAM  237 

"  Well  —  I  suppose  you  must  feed  him,"  said 
Michael  Ivanovich,  and  frowned  with  the  obvious 
effort. 

She  got  up,  and  suddenly  the  wild  idea  seized 
her  to  show  him  whom  she  loved  so  deeply  the 
thing  she  now  loved  best  of  all  in  the  world. 
But  first  she  looked  at  her  father's  face.  Would 
he  be  angry  or  not?  His  face  revealed  no  anger, 
only  suffering. 

"  Yes,  go,  go,"  said  he;  "  God  bless  you.  Yes. 
ril  come  again  to-morrow,  and  we  will  decide. 
Good-bye,  my  darling — good-bye."  Again  he 
found  it  hard  to  swallow  the  lump  In  his  throat. 

When  Michael  Ivanovich  returned  to  his 
brother's  house,  Alexandra  Dmitrievna  imme- 
diately rushed  to  him. 

"Well?" 

"Well?     Nothing." 

"Have  you  seen?"  she  asked,  guessing  from 
his  expression  that  something  had  happened. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  shortly,  and  began  to  cry. 
"  I'm  getting  old  and  stupid,"  said  he,  mastering 
his  emotion. 

"No;  you  are  growing  wise  —  very  wise." 


THERE  ARE  NO   GUILTY   PEOPLE 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 


Mine  is  a  strange  and  wonderful  lot!  The 
chances  are  that  there  is  not  a  single  wretched 
beggar  suffering  under  the  luxury  and  oppression 
of  the  rich  who  feels  anything  like  as  keenly  as  I 
do  either  the  injustice,  the  cruelty,  and  the  horror 
of  their  oppression  of  and  contempt  for  the  poor; 
or  the  grinding  humiliation  and  misery  which 
befall  the  great  majority  of  the  workers,  the  real 
producers  of  all  that  makes  life  possible.  I  have 
felt  this  for  a  long  time,  and  as  the  years  have 
passed  by  the  feeling  has  grown  and  grown,  until 
recently  it  reached  its  climax.  Although  I  feel  all 
this  so  vividly,  I  still  live  on  amid  the  depravity 
and  sins  of  rich  society;  and  I  cannot  leave  it, 
because  I  have  neither  the  knowledge  nor  the 
strength  to  do  so.  I  cannot.  I  do  not  know 
how  to  change  my  life  so  that  my  physical  needs 
—  food,  sleep,  clothing,  my  going  to  and  fro  — 
may  be  satisfied  without  a  sense  of  shame  and 
wrongdoing  in  the  position  which  I  fill. 

241 


242     THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

There  was  a  time  when  I  tried  to  change  my 
position,  which  was  not  In  harmony  with  my 
conscience ;  but  the  conditions  created  by  the  past, 
by  my  family  and  its  claims  upon  me,  were  so 
complicated  that  they  would  not  let  me  out  of 
their  grasp,  or  rather,  I  did  not  know  how  to  free 
myself.  I  had  not  the  strength.  Now  that  I  am 
over  eighty  and  have  become  feeble,  I  have  given 
up  trying  to  free  myself;  and,  strange  to  say,  as 
my  feebleness  Increases  I  realise  more  and  more 
strongly  the  wrongfulness  of  my  position,  and  it 
grows  more  and  more  intolerable  to  me. 

It  has  occurred  to  me  that  I  do  not  occupy  this 
position  for  nothing:  that  Providence  intended 
that  I  should  lay  bare  the  truth  of  my  feelings,  so 
that  I  might  atone  for  all  that  causes  my  suffering, 
and  might  perhaps  open  the  eyes  of  those  —  or  at 
least  of  some  of  those  —  who  are  still  blind  to 
what  I  see  so  clearly,  and  thus  might  lighten  the 
burden  of  that  vast  majority  who,  under  existing 
conditions,  are  subjected  to  bodily  and  spiritual 
suffering  by  those  who  deceive  them  and  also 
deceive  themselves.  Indeed,  It  may  be  that  the 
position  which  I  occupy  gives  me  special  facilities 
for  revealing  the  artificial  and  criminal  relations 
which  exist  between  men  —  for  telling  the  whole 
truth  In  regard  to  that  position  without  confusing 
the  issue  by  attempting  to  vindicate  myself,  and 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE     243 

without  rousing  the  envy  of  the  rich  and  feelings 
of  oppression  in  the  hearts  of  the  poor  and  down- 
trodden. I  am  so  placed  that  I  not  only  have  no 
desire  to  vindicate  myself;  but,  on  the  contrary,  I 
find  it  necessary  to  make  an  effort  lest  I  should 
exaggerate  the  wickedness  of  the  great  among 
whom  I  live,  of  whose  society  I  am  ashamed, 
whose  attitude  towards  their  fellow-men  I  detest 
with  my  whole  soul,  though  I  find  it  impossible  to 
separate  my  lot  from  theirs.  But  I  must  also 
avoid  the  error  of  those  democrats  and  others 
who,  in  defending  the  oppressed  and  the  enslaved, 
do  not  see  their  failings  and  mistakes,  and  who  do 
not  make  sufficient  allowance  for  the  difficulties 
created,  the  mistakes  inherited  from  the  past, 
which  in  a  degree  lessens  the  responsibility  of  the 
upper  classes. 

Free  from  desire  for  self-vindication,  free  from 
fear  of  an  emancipated  people,  free  from  that 
envy  and  hatred  which  the  oppressed  feel  for  their 
oppressors,  I  am  in  the  best  possible  position  to 
see  the  truth  and  to  tell  it.  Perhaps  that  is  why 
Providence  placed  me  in  such  a  position.  I  will 
do  my  best  to  turn  it  to  account. 


244     THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

II 

Alexander  Ivanovlch  Volgin,  a  bachelor  and  a 
clerk  in  a  Moscow  bank  at  a  salary  of  eight 
thousand  roubles  a  year,  a  man  much  respected  in 
his  own  set,  was  staying  in  a  country-house.  His 
host  was  a  wealthy  landowner,  owning  some 
twenty-five  hundred  acres,  and  had  married  his 
guest's  cousin.  Volgin,  tired  after  an  evening 
spent  in  playing  vint  *  for  small  stakes  with  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  went  to  his  room  and  placed 
his  watch,  silver  cigarette-case,  pocket-book,  big 
leather  purse,  and  pocket-brush  and  comb  on  a 
small  table  covered  with  a  white  cloth,  and  then, 
taking  off  his  coat,  waistcoat,  shirt,  trousers,  and 
underclothes,  his  silk  socks  and  English  boots,  put 
on  his  nightshirt  and  dressing-gown.  His  watch 
pointed  to  midnight.  Volgin  smoked  a  cigarette, 
lay  on  his  face  for  about  five  minutes  reviewing 
the  day's  impressions;  then,  blowing  out  his 
candle,  he  turned  over  on  his  side  and  fell  asleep 
about  one  o'clock,  in  spite  of  a  good  deal  of  rest- 
lessness. Awaking  next  morning  at  eight  he  put 
on  his  slippers  and  dressing-gown,  and  rang  the 
bell. 

The    old    butler,    Stephen,    the    father    of    a 

*A  game  of  cards  similar  to  auction  bridge. 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE     245 

family  and  the  grandfather  of  six  grandchildren, 
who  had  served  In  that  house  for  thirty  years, 
entered  the  room  hurriedly,  with  bent  legs,  carry- 
ing in  the  newly  blackened  boots  which  Volgin  had 
taken  off  the  night  before,  a  well-brushed  suit,  and 
a  clean  shirt.  The  guest  thanked  him,  and  then 
asked  what  the  weather  was  like  (the  blinds  were 
drawn  so  that  the  sun  should  not  prevent  any  one 
from  sleeping  till  eleven  o'clock  if  he  were  so 
inclined),  and  whether  his  hosts  had  slept  well. 
He  glanced  at  his  watch  —  it  was  still  early  — 
and  began  to  wash  and  dress.  His  water  was 
ready,  and  everything  on  the  washing-stand  and 
dressing-table  was  ready  for  use  and  properly  laid 
out  —  his  soap,  his  tooth  and  hair  brushes,  his  nail 
scissors  and  files.  He  washed  his  hands  and  face 
in  a  leisurely  fashion,  cleaned  and  manicured  his 
nails,  pushed  back  the  skin  with  the  towel,  and 
sponged  his  stout  white  body  from  head  to  foot. 
Then  he  began  to  brush  his  hair.  Standing  in 
front  of  the  mirror,  he  first  brushed  his  curly 
beard,  which  was  beginning  to  turn  grey,  with  two 
English  brushes,  parting  it  down  the  middle. 
Then  he  combed  his  hair,  which  was  already  show- 
ing signs  of  getting  thin,  with  a  large  tortoise- 
shell  comb.  Putting  on  his  underlinen,  his  socks, 
his  boots,  his  trousers  —  which  were  held  up  by 
elegant  braces  —  and  his  waistcoat,  he  sat  down 


246     THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

coatless  In  an  easy  chair  to  rest  after  dressing,  lit 
a  cigarette,  and  began  to  think  where  he  should  go 
for  a  walk  that  morning  —  to  the  park  or  to  Lit- 
tleports  (what  a  funny  name  for  a  wood  I).  He 
thought  he  would  go  to  LIttleports.  Then  he 
must  answer  Simon  Nicholaevich's  letter;  but 
there  was  time  enough  for  that.  Getting  up  with 
an  air  of  resolution,  he  took  out  his  watch.  It 
was  already  five  minutes  to  nine.  He  put  his 
watch  Into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  his  purse  — 
with  all  that  was  left  of  the  hundred  and  eighty 
roubles  he  had  taken  for  his  journey,  and  for  the 
incidental  expenses  of  his  fortnight's  stay  with 
his  cousin  —  and  then  he  placed  into  his  trouser 
pocket  his  cigarette-case  and  electric  cigarette- 
lighter,  and  two  clean  handkerchiefs  into  his  coat 
pockets,  and  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  as 
usual  the  mess  and  confusion  which  he  had  made 
to  be  cleared  up  by  Stephen,  an  old  man  of  over 
fifty.  Stephen  expected  Volgin  to  ''  remunerate  " 
him,  as  he  said,  being  so  accustomed  to  the  work 
that  he  did  not  feel  the  slightest  repugnance  for  It. 
Glancing  at  a  mirror,  and  feeling  satisfied  with 
his  appearance,  Volgin  went  into  the  dining-room. 
There,  thanks  to  the  efforts  of  the  housekeeper, 
the  footman,  and  under-butler  —  the  latter  had 
risen  at  dawn  In  order  to  run  home  to  sharpen  his 
son's  scythe  —  breakfast  was  ready.  On  a  spot- 
less  white   cloth    stood   a   boiling,    shiny,    silver 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE     247 

samovar  (at  least  It  looked  like  silver),  a  coffee- 
pot, hot  milk,  cream,  butter,  and  all  sorts  of  fancy 
white  bread  and  biscuits.  The  only  persons  at 
table  were  the  second  son  of  the  house,  his  tutor 
(a  student),  and  the  secretary.  The  host,  who 
was  an  active  member  of  the  Zemstvo  and  a  great 
farmer,  had  already  left  the  house,  having  gone 
at  eight  o'clock  to  attend  to  his  work.  Volgin, 
while  drinking  his  coffee,  talked  to  the  student 
and  the  secretary  about  the  weather,  and  yester- 
day's vInt,  and  discussed  Theodorlte's  peculiar  be- 
haviour the  night  before,  as  he  had  been  very 
rude  to  his  father  without  the  slightest  cause. 
Theodorlte  was  the  grown-up  son  of  the  house, 
and  a  ne'er-do-well.  His  name  was  Theodore, 
but  some  one  had  once  called  him  Theodorlte 
either  as  a  joke  or  to  tease  him;  and,  as  it  seemed 
funny,  the  name  stuck  to  him,  although  his  doings 
were  no  longer  In  the  least  amusing.  So  it  was 
now.  He  had  been  to  the  university,  but  left  it 
in  his  second  year,  and  joined  a  regiment  of  horse 
guards;  but  he  gave  that  up  also,  and  was  now 
living  In  the  country,  doing  nothing,  finding  fault, 
and  feeling  discontented  with  everything.  Theo- 
dorlte was  still  In  bed :  so  were  the  other  members 
of  the  household  —  Anna  MIkhallovna,  its  mis- 
tress; her  sister,  the  widow  of  a  general;  and  a 
landscape  painter  who  lived  with  the  family. 
Volgin  took  his  panama  hat  from  the  hall  table 


248      THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

(it  had  cost  twenty  roubles)  and  his  cane  with  Its 
carved  Ivory  handle,  and  went  out.  Crossing  the 
veranda,  gay  with  flowers,  he  walked  through  the 
flower  garden,  In  the  centre  of  which  was  a  raised 
round  bed,  with  rings  of  red,  white,  and  blue 
flowers,  and  the  Initials  of  the  mistress  of  the 
house  done  In  carpet  bedding  In  the  centre. 
Leaving  the  flower  garden  Volgin  entered  the 
avenue  of  lime  trees,  hundreds  of  years  old,  which 
peasant  girls  were  tidying  and  sweeping  with 
spades  and  brooms.  The  gardener  was  busy 
measuring,  and  a  boy  was  bringing  something  In 
a  cart.  Passing  these  Volgin  went  Into  the  park 
of  at  least  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  acres, 
filled  with  fine  old  trees,  and  Intersected  by  a 
network  of  well-kept  walks.  Smoking  as  he 
strolled  Volgin  took  his  favourite  path  past  the 
summer-house  Into  the  fields  beyond.  It  was 
pleasant  In  the  park,  but  It  was  still  nicer  in  the 
fields.  On  the  right  some  women  who  were  dig- 
ging potatoes  formed  a  mass  of  bright  red  and 
white  colour;  on  the  left  were  wheat  fields,  mead- 
ows, and  grazing  cattle;  and  In  the  foreground, 
slightly  to  the  right,  were  the  dark,  dark  oaks  of 
Littleports.  Volgin  took  a  deep  breath,  and  felt 
glad  that  he  was  alive,  especially  here  In  his 
cousin's  home,  where  he  was  so  thoroughly  en- 
joying the  rest  from  his  work  at  the  bank. 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE      249 

"  Lucky  people  to  live  in  the  country,"  he 
thought.  "  True,  what  with  his  farming  and  his 
Zemstvo,  the  owner  of  the  estate  has  very  little 
peace  even  in  the  country,  but  that  is  his  own 
lookout."  Volgin  shook  his  head,  lit  another 
cigarette,  and,  stepping  out  firmly  with  his  power- 
ful feet  clad  in  his  thick  English  boots,  began  to 
think  of  the  heavy  winter's  work  in  the  bank  that 
was  in  front  of  him.  "  I  shall  be  there  every  day 
from  ten  to  two,  sometimes  even  till  five.  And 
the  board  meetings.  .  .  ,  And  private  inter- 
views with  clients.  .  .  .  Then  the  Duma. 
Whereas  here.  ...  It  is  delightful.  It 
may  be  a  little  dull,  but  it  is  not  for  long."  He 
smiled.  After  a  stroll  in  Littleports  he  turned 
back,  going  straight  across  a  fallow  field  which 
was  being  ploughed.  A  herd  of  cows,  calves, 
sheep,  and  pigs,  which  belonged  to  the  village 
community,  was  grazing  there.  The  shortest 
way  to  the  park  was  to  pass  through  the  herd. 
He  frightened  the  sheep,  which  ran  away  one 
after  another,  and  were  followed  by  the  pigs,  of 
which  two  little  ones  stared  solemnly  at  him. 
The  shepherd  boy  called  to  the  sheep  and  cracked 
his  whip.  "  How  far  behind  Europe  we  are," 
thought  Volgin,  recalling  his  frequent  holidays 
abroad.  "  You  would  not  find  a  single  cow  like 
that   anywhere   in   Europe."     Then,   wanting  to 


250     THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

find  out  where  the  path  which  branched  off  from 
the  one  he  was  on  led  to  and  who  was  the  owner 
of  the  herd,  he  called  to  the  boy.' 

^' Whose  herd  Is  It?" 

The  boy  was  so  filled  with  wonder,  verging  on 
terror,  when  he  gazed  at  the  hat,  the  well-brushed 
beard,  and  above  all  the  gold-rimmed  eyeglasses, 
that  he  could  not  reply  at  once.  When  Volgin 
repeated  his  question  the  boy  pulled  himself  to- 
gether, and  said,  "  Ours."  "  But  whose  is 
'ours'?"  said  Volgin,  shaking  his  head  and 
smiling.  The  boy  was  wearing  shoes  of  plaited 
birch  bark,  bands  of  linen  round  his  legs,  a  dirty, 
unbleached  shirt  ragged  at  the  shoulder,  and  a  cap 
the  peak  of  which  had  been  torn. 

"Whose  Is 'ours'?" 

"  The  PIrogov  village  herd." 

"  How  old  are  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Can  you  read?  " 

"  No,  I  can't." 

"Didn't  you  go  to  school?" 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  Couldn't  you  learn  to  read?  " 

"  No." 

"Where  does  that  path  lead?" 

The  boy  told  him,  and  Volgin  went  on  to- 
wards the  house,   thinking  how  he  would  chaff 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE      251 

Nicholas  Petrovich  about  the  deplorable  condi- 
tion of  the  village  schools  In  spite  of  all  his  ef- 
forts. 

On  approaching  the  house  Volgin  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  saw  that  it  was  already  past  eleven. 
He  remembered  that  Nicholas  Petrovich  was 
going  to  drive  to  the  nearest  town,  and  that  he 
had  meant  to  give  him  a  letter  to  post  to  Moscow; 
but  the  letter  was  not  written.  The  letter  was  a 
very  Important  one  to  a  friend,  asking  him  to  bid 
for  him  for  a  picture  of  the  Madonna  which  was 
to  be  offered  for  sale  at  an  auction.  As  he 
reached  the  house  he  saw  at  the  door  four  big, 
well-fed,  well-groomed,  thoroughbred  horses  har- 
nessed to  a  carriage,  the  black  lacquer  of  which 
glistened  in  the  sun.  The  coachman  was  seated 
on  the  box  In  a  kaftan,  with  a  silver  belt,  and  the 
horses  were  jingling  their  silver  bells  from  time 
to  time. 

A  bare-headed,  bare-footed  peasant  In  a  ragged 
kaftan  stood  at  the  front  door.  He  bowed. 
VolgIn  asked  what  he  wanted. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  Nicholas  Petrovich." 

"What  about?" 

"Because  I  am  In  distress  —  my  horse  has 
died." 

Volgin  began  to  question  him.  The  peasant 
told  him  how  he  was  situated.     He  had  five  chil- 


252     THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

dren,  and  this  had  been  his  only  horse.  Now 
it  was  gone.     He  wept. 

'*  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  To  beg."  And  he  knelt  down,  and  remained 
kneeling  in  spite  of  Volgin's  expostulations.        ^ 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Mitri  Sudarikov,"  answered  the  peasant,  still 
kneeling. 

Volgin  took  three  roubles  from  his  purse  and 
gave  them  to  the  peasant,  who  showed  his  grat- 
itude by  touching  the  ground  with  his  forehead, 
and  then  went  into  the  house.  His  host  was 
standing  in  the  hall. 

*'  Where  is  your  letter?  "  he  asked,  approach- 
ing Volgin;  "  I  am  just  off." 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry.  Til  write  it  this  minute,  if 
you  will  let  me.  I  forgot  all  about  it.  It's  so 
pleasant  here  that  one  can   forget  anything." 

"  All  right,  but  do  be  quick.  The  horses  have 
already  been  standing  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
the  flies  are  biting  viciously.  Can  you  wait,  Ar- 
senty?"  he  asked  the  coachman. 

"Why  not?"  said  the  coachman,  thinking  to 
himself,  "  why  do  they  order  the  horses  when 
they  aren't  ready?  The  rush  the  grooms  and  I 
had  —  just  to  stand  here  and  feed  the  flies." 

*'  Directly,  directly,"  Volgin  went  towards  his 
room,  but  turned  back  to  ask  Nicholas  Petrovich 
about  the  begging  peasant. 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE     253 

"Did  you  see  him?  —  He's  a  drunkard,  but 
still  he  is  to  be  pitied.     Do  be  quick!  " 

Volgin  got  out  his  case,  with  all  the  requisites 
for  writing,  wrote  the  letter,  made  out  a  cheque 
for  a  hundred  and  eighty  roubles,  and,  sealing 
down  the  envelope,  took  It  to  Nicholas  Petrovich. 

"  Good-bye." 

Volgin  read  the  newspapers  till  luncheon.  He 
only  read  the  Liberal  papers:  The  Russian 
Gazette,  Speech,  sometimes  The  Russian  JVord 
—  but  he  would  not  touch  The  New  Times,  to 
which  his  host  subscribed. 

While  he  was  scanning  at  his  ease  the  political 
news,  the  Tsar's  doings,  the  doings  of  President, 
and  ministers  and  decisions  In  the  Duma,  and  was 
just  about  to  pass  on  to  the  general  news,  thea- 
tres, science,  murders  and  cholera,  he  heard  the 
luncheon  bell  ring. 

Thanks  to  the  efforts  of  upwards  of  ten  human 
beings  —  counting  laundresses,  gardeners,  cooks, 
kitchen-maids,  butlers  and  footmen  —  the  table 
was  sumptuously  laid  for  eight,  with  silver  water- 
jugs,  decanters,  kvass,  wine,  mineral  waters,  cut 
glass,  and  fine  table  linen,  while  two  men-servants 
were  continually  hurrying  to  and  fro,  bringing 
In  and  serving,  and  then  clearing  away  the 
hors  d^ceuvre  and  the  various  hot  and  cold 
courses. 

The    hostess   talked   incessantly   about   every- 


254     THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

thing  that  she  had  been  doing,  thinking,  and  say- 
ing; and  she  evidently  considered  that  everything 
that  she  thought,  said,  or  did  was  perfect,  and 
that  It  would  please  every  one  except  those  who 
were  fools.  Volgin  felt  and  knew  that  every- 
thing she  said  was  stupid,  but  It  would  never  do 
to  let  It  be  seen,  and  so  he  kept  up  the  conversa- 
tion. Theodorite  was  glum  and  silent;  the  stu- 
dent occasionally  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the 
widow.  Now  and  again  there  was  a  pause  in 
the  conversation,  and  then  Theodorite  interposed, 
and  every  one  became  miserably  depressed.  At 
such  moments  the  hostess  ordered  some  dish  that 
had  not  been  served,  and  the  footman  hurried 
off  to  the  kitchen,  or  to  the  housekeeper,  and  hur- 
ried back  again.  Nobody  felt  Inclined  either  to 
talk  or  to  eat.  But  they  all  forced  themselves 
to  eat  and  to  talk,  and  so  luncheon  went  on. 

The  peasant  who  had  been  begging  because  his 
horse  had  died  was  named  MItri  Sudarikov.  He 
had  spent  the  whole  day  before  he  went  to  the 
squire  over  his  dead  horse.  First  of  all  he  went 
to  the  knacker,  Sanin,  who  lived  In  a  village  near. 
The  knacker  was  out,  but  he  waited  for  him,  and 
It  was  dinner-time  when  he  had  finished  bargain- 
ing over  the  price  of  the  skin.  Then  he  bor- 
rowed a  neighbour's  horse  to  take  his  own  to  a 
field  to  be  burled,  as  it  is  forbidden  to  bury  dead 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE     255 

animals  near  a  village.  Adrian  would  not  lend 
his  horse  because  he  was  getting  In  his  potatoes, 
but  Stephen  took  pity  on  MItrl  and  gave  way  to 
his  persuasion.  He  even  lent  a  hand  in  lifting 
the  dead  horse  Into  the  cart.  Mitri  tore  off  the 
shoes  from  the  forelegs  and  gave  them  to  his 
wife.  One  was  broken,  but  the  other  one  was 
whole.  While  he  was  digging  the  grave  with  a 
spade  which  was  very  blunt,  the  knacker  appeared 
and  took  off  the  skin;  and  the  carcass  was  then 
thrown  Into  the  hole  and  covered  up.  Mitri  felt 
tired,  and  went  into  Matrena's  hut,  where  he 
drank  half  a  bottle  of  vodka  with  Sanin  to  con- 
sole himself.  Then  he  went  home,  quarrelled 
with  his  wife,  and  lay  down  to  sleep  on  the  hay. 
He  did  not  undress,  but  slept  just  as  he  was,  with 
a  ragged  coat  for  a  coverlet.  His  wife  was  in 
the  hut  with  the  girls  —  there  were  four  of  them, 
and  the  youngest  was  only  five  weeks  old.  Mitri 
woke  up  before  dawn  as  usual.  He  groaned  as 
the  memory  of  the  day  before  broke  in  upon  him 
— -how  the  horse  had  struggled  and  struggled, 
and  then  fallen  down.  Now  there  was  no  horse, 
and  all  he  had  was  the  price  of  the  skin,  four 
roubles  and  eighty  kopeks.  Getting  up  he  ar- 
ranged the  linen  bands  on  his  legs,  and  went 
through  the  yard  into  the  hut.  His  wife  was  put- 
ting straw  into  the   stove  with  one   hand,   with 


256      THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

the  other  she  was  holding  a  baby  girl  to  her 
breast,  which  was  hanging  out  of  her  dirty 
chemise. 

Mitri  crossed  himself  three  times,  turning 
towards  the  corner  in  which  the  Ikons  hung,  and 
repeated  some  utterly  meaningless  words,  which 
he  called  prayers,  to  the  Trinity  and  the  Virgin, 
the  Creed  and  our  Father. 

"  Isn't  there  any  water?  '' 

"  The  girl's  gone  for  it.  I've  got  some  tea. 
Will  you  go  up  to  the  squire?  " 

"  Yes,  I'd  better."  The  smoke  from  the  stove 
made  him  cough.  He  took  a  rag  off  the  wooden 
bench  and  went  Into  the  porch.  The  girl  had 
just  come  back  with  the  water.  Mitri  filled  his 
mouth  with  water  from  the  pail  and  squirted  It 
out  on  his  hands,  took  some  more  In  his  mouth 
to  wash  his  face,  dried  himself  with  the  rag,  then 
parted  and  smoothed  his  curly  hair  with  his  fin- 
gers and  went  out.  A  little  girl  of  about  ten, 
with  nothing  on  but  a  dirty  shirt,  came  towards 
him.  "  Good-morning,  Uncle  Mitri,"  she  said; 
"  you  are  to  come  and  thrash."  *'  All  right,  I'll 
come,"  replied  Mitri.  He  understood  that  he 
was  expected  to  return  the  help  given  the  week 
before  by  Kumushkir,  a  man  as  poor  as  he  was 
himself,  when  he  was  thrashing  his  own  corn  with 
a  horse-driven  machine. 

"  Tell  them  I'll  come  —  I'll  come  at  lunch  time. 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE      257 

I've  got  to  go  to  Ugrumi."  Mitri  went  back  to 
the  hut,  and  changing  his  birch-bark  shoes  and  the 
linen  bands  on  his  legs,  started  off  to  see  the 
squire.  After  he  had  got  three  roubles  from 
Volgin,  and  the  same  sum  from  Nicholas  Petro- 
vich,  he  returned  to  his  house,  gave  the  money  to 
his  wife,  and  went  to  his  neighbour's.  The  thrash- 
ing machine  was  humming,  and  the  driver  was 
shouting.  The  lean  horses  were  going  slowly 
round  him,  straining  at  their  traces.  The  driver 
was  shouting  to  them  in  a  monotone,  "  Now,  there, 
imy  dears."  Some  women  were  unbinding  sheaves, 
others  were  raking  up  the  scattered  straw  and  ears, 
and  others  again  were  gathering  great  armfuls  of 
corn  and  handing  them  to  the  men  to  feed  the 
machine.  The  work  was  in  full  swing.  In  the 
kitchen  garden,  which  Mitri  had  to  pass,  a  girl, 
clad  only  in  a  long  shirt,  was  digging  potatoes 
which  she  put  into  a  basket. 

"Where's  your  grandfather?"  asked  Mitri. 
*'  He's  in  the  barn."  Mitri  went  to  the  barn  and 
set  to  work  at  once.  The  old  man  of  eighty  knew 
of  Mitri's  trouble.  After  greeting  him,  he  gave 
him  his  place  to  feed  the  machine. 

Mitri  took  off  his  ragged  coat,  laid  it  out  of  the 
way  near  the  fence,  and  then  began  to  work  vig- 
orously, raking  the  corn  together  and  throwing 
it  into  the  machine.  The  work  went  on  without 
interruption   until    the    dinner-hour.     The    cocks 


258     THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

had  crowed  two  or  three  times,  but  no  one  paid 
any  attention  to  them;  not  because  the  workers 
did  not  believe  them,  but  because  they  were 
scarcely  heard  for  the  noise  of  the  work  and  the 
talk  about  it.  At  last  the  whistle  of  the  squire's 
steam  thrasher  sounded  three  miles  away,  and  then 
the  owner  came  into  the  barn.  He  was  a  straight 
old  man  of  eighty.  "  It's  time  to  stop,"  he  said; 
"  It's  dinner-time."  Those  at  work  seemed  to 
redouble  their  efforts.  In  a  moment  the  straw 
was  cleared  away;  the  grain  that  had  been 
thrashed  was  separated  from  the  chaff  and  brought 
in,  and  then  the  workers  went  into  the  hut. 

The  hut  was  smoke-begrimed,  as  its  stove  had 
no  chimney,  but  it  had  been  tidied  up,  and  benches 
stood  round  the  table,  making  room  for  all  those 
who  had  been  working,  of  whom  there  were  nine, 
not  counting  the  owners.  Bread,  soup,  boiled 
potatoes,  and  kvass  were  placed  on  the  table. 

An  old  one-armed  beggar,  with  a  bag  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  came  in  with  a  crutch  during  the  meal. 
"  Peace  be  to  this  house.     A  good  appetite  to 
you.     For  Christ's  sake  give  me  something." 

**  God  will  give  It  to  you,"  said  the  mistress, 
already  an  old  woman,  and  the  daughter-in-law  of 
the  master.  "  Don't  be  angry  with  us."  An  old 
man,  who  was  still  standing  near  the  door,  said, 
^*  Give  him  some  bread,  Martha.    How  can  you  ?  " 


THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE     259 

"  I  am  only  wondering  whether  we  shall  have 
enough."  '*  Oh,  it  is  wrong,  Martha.  God  tells 
us  to  help  the  poor.     Cut  him  a  slice." 

Martha  obeyed.  The  beggar  went  away.  The 
man  in  charge  of  the  thrashing-machine  got  up, 
said  grace,  thanked  his  hosts,  and  went  away  to 
rest. 

Mitri  did  not  lie  down,  but  ran  to  the  shop  to 
buy  some  tobacco.  He  was  longing  for  a  smoke. 
While  he  smoked  he  chatted  to  a  man  from 
Demensk,  asking  the  price  of  cattle,  as  he  saw 
that  he  would  not  be  able  to  manage  without  sell- 
ing a  cow.  When  he  returned  to  the  others,  they 
were  already  back  at  work  again;  and  so  it  went 
on  till  the  evening. 

Among  these  downtrodden,  duped,  and  de- 
frauded men,  who  are  becoming  demoralised  by 
overwork,  and  being  gradually  done  to  death 
by  underfeeding,  there  are  men  living  who 
consider  themselves  Christians;  and  others  so 
enlightened  that  they  feel  no  further  need  for 
Christianity  or  for  any  religion,  so  superior  do 
they  appear  in  their  own  esteem.  And  yet  their 
hideous,  lazy  lives  are  supported  by  the  degrading, 
excessive  labour  of  these  slaves,  not  to  mention 
the  labour  of  millions  of  other  slaves,  toiling  in 
factories  to  produce  samovars,  silver,  carriages, 
jnachines,  and  the  like  for  their  use.     They  live 


26o     THERE  ARE  NO  GUILTY  PEOPLE 

among  these  horrors,  seeing  them  and  yet  not 
seeing  them,  although  often  kind  at  heart  —  old 
men  and  women,  young  men  and  maidens,  mothers 
and  children  —  poor  children  who  are  being  viti- 
ated and  trained  into  moral  blindness. 

Here  is  a  bachelor  grown  old,  the  owner  of 
thousands  of  acres,  who  has  lived  a  life  of  idle- 
ness, greed,  and  over-indulgence,  who  reads  The 
New  Times,  and  is  astonished  that  the  govern- 
ment can  be  so  unwise  as  to  permit  Jews  to  enter 
the  university.  There  is  his  guest,  formerly  the 
governor  of  a  province,  now  a  senator  with  a  big 
salary,  who  reads  with  satisfaction  that  a  congress 
of  lawyers  has  passed  a  resolution  in  favor  of 
capital  punishment.  Their  political  enemy,  N.  P., 
reads  a  liberal  paper,  and  cannot  understand  the 
blindness  of  the  government  in  allowing  the  union 
of  Russian  men  to  exist. 

Here  is  a  kind,  gentle  mother  of  a  little  girl 
reading  a  story  to  her  about  Fox,  a  dog  that 
lamed  some  rabbits.  And  here  is  this  little  girl. 
During  her  walks  she  sees  other  children,  bare- 
footed, hungry,  hunting  for  green  apples  that  have 
fallen  from  the  trees;  and,  so  accustomed  is  she 
to  the  sight,  that  these  children  do  not  seem  to  her 
to  be  children  such  as  she  is,  but  only  part  of  the 
usual  surroundings  —  the  familiar  landscape. 

Why  is  this? 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

The  young  Tsar  had  just  ascended  the  throne. 
For  five  weeks  he  had  worked  without  ceasing,  in 
the  way  that  Tsars  are  accustomed  to  work.  He 
had  been  attending  to  reports,  signing  papers,  re- 
ceiving ambassadors  and  high  officials  who  came 
to  be  presented  to  him,  and  reviewing  troops.  He 
was  tired,  and  as  a  traveller  exhausted  by  heat 
and  thirst  longs  for  a  draught  of  water  and  for 
rest,  so  he  longed  for  a  respite  of  just  one  day 
at  least  from  receptions,  from  speeches,  from 
parades  —  a  few  free  hours  to  spend  like  an  ordi- 
nary human  being  with  his  young,  clever,  and 
beautiful  wife,  to  whom  he  had  been  married  only 
a  month  before. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve.  The  young  Tsar  had 
arranged  to  have  a  complete  rest  that  evening. 
The  night  before  he  had  worked  till  very  late  at 
documents  which  his  ministers  of  state  had  left 
for  him  to  examine.  In  the  morning  he  was 
present  at  the  Te  Deum,  and  then  at  a  military 
service.  In  the  afternoon  he  received  official 
visitors;  and  later  he  had  been  obliged  to  listen 

263 


264  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

to  the  reports  of  three  ministers  of  state,  and  had 
given  his  assent  to  many  important  matters.  In 
his  conference  with  the  Minister  of  Finance  he 
had  agreed  to  an  increase  of  duties  on  imported 
goods,  which  should  in  the  future  add  many  mil- 
lions to  the  State  revenues.  Then  he  sanctioned 
the  sale  of  brandy  by  the  Crown  in  various  parts 
of  the  country,  and  signed  a  decree  permitting  the 
sale  of  alcohol  in  villages  having  markets.  This 
was  also  calculated  to  increase  the  principal 
revenue  to  the  State,  which  was  derived  from  the 
sale  of  spirits.  He  had  also  approved  of  the 
issuing  of  a  new  gold  loan  required  for  a  financial 
negotiation.  The  Minister  of  Justice  having  re- 
ported on  the  complicated  case  of  the  succession 
of  the  Baron  Snyders,  the  young  Tsar  confirmed 
the  decision  by  his  signature;  and  also  approved 
the  new  rules  relating  to  the  application  of  Arti- 
cle 1830  of  the  penal  code,  providing  for  the  pun- 
ishment of  tramps.  In  his  conference  with  the 
Minister  of  the  Interior  he  ratified  the  order  con- 
cerning the  collection  of  taxes  in  arrears,  signed 
the  order  settling  what  measures  should  be  taken 
in  regard  to  the  persecution  of  religious  dissenters, 
and  also  one  providing  for  the  continuance  of 
martial  law  In  those  provinces  where  it  had  al- 
ready been  established.  With  the  Minister  of 
War  he  arranged  for  the  nomination  of  a  new 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  265 

Corps  Commander  for  the  raising  of  recruits,  and 
for  punishment  of  breach  of  discipline.  These 
things  kept  him  occupied  till  dinner-time,  and  even 
then  his  freedom  was  not  complete.  A  number 
of  high  officials  had  been  invited  to  dinner,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  talk  to  them :  not  in  the  way  he 
felt  disposed  to  do,  but  according  to  what  he  was 
expected  to  say.  At  last  the  tiresome  dinner  was 
over,  and  the  guests  departed. 

The  young  Tsar  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief, 
stretched  himself  and  retired  to  his  apartments 
to  take  off  his  uniform  with  the  decorations  on  It, 
and  to  don  the  jacket  he  used  to  wear  before  his 
accession  to  the  throne.  His  young  wife  had  also 
retired  to  take  off  her  dinner-dress,  remarking 
that  she  would  join  him  presently. 

When  he  had  passed  the  row  of  footmen  who 
were  standing  erect  before  him,  and  reached  his 
room ;  when  he  had  thrown  off  his  heavy  uniform 
and  put  on  his  jacket,  the  young  Tsar  felt  glad  to 
be  free  from  work;  and  his  heart  was  filled  with  a 
tender  emotion  which  sprang  from  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  freedom,  of  his  joyous,  robust  young 
life,  and  of  his  love.  He  threw  himself  on  the 
sofa,  stretched  out  his  legs  upon  It,  leaned  his  head 
on  his  hand,  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  dull  glass  shade 
O/f  the  lamp,  and  then  a  sensation  which  he  had  not 
experienced  since  his  childhood, — the  pleasure  of 


266  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

going  to  sleep,  and  a  drowsiness  that  was  irresist- 
ible —  suddenly  came  over  him. 

"  My  wife  will  be  here  presently  and  will  find 
ime  asleep.  No,  I  must  not  go  to  sleep,"  he 
thought.  He  let  his  elbow  drop  down,  laid  hisi 
cheek  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  made  himself  com- 
fortable, and  was  so  utterly  happy  that  he  only 
felt  a  desire  not  to  be  aroused  from  this  delight- 
ful state. 

And  then  what  happens  to  all  of  us  every  day 
happened  to  him  —  he  fell  asleep  without  know- 
ing himself  when  or  how.  He  passed  from  one 
state  into  another  without  his  will  having  any 
share  in  it,  without  even  desiring  it,  and  without 
regretting  the  state  out  of  which  he  had  passed. 
He  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep  which  was  like  death. 
How  long  he  had  slept  he  did  not  know,  but 
he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  the  soft  touch  of  a 
hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  It  is  my  darling,  it  is  she,"  he  thought. 
"  What  a  shame  to  have  dozed  off !  " 

But  it  was  not  she.  Before  his  eyes,  which 
were  wide  open  and  blinking  at  the  light,  she, 
that  charming  and  beautiful  creature  whom  he  was 
expecting,  did  not  stand,  but  he  stood.  Who  he 
was  the  young  Tsar  did  not  know,  but  somehow 
it  did  not  strike  him  that  he  was  a  stranger  whom 
he  had  never  seen  before.     It  seemed  as  if  he  had 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  267 

known  him  for  a  long  time  and  was  fond  of 
him,  and  as  if  he  trusted  him  as  he  would  trust 
himself.  He  had  expected  his  beloved  wife,  but 
in  her  stead  that  man  whom  he  had  never  seen 
before  had  come.  Yet  to  the  young  Tsar,  who 
was  far  from  feeling  regret  or  astonishment,  it 
seemed  not  only  a  most  natural,  but  also  a  neces- 
sary thing  to  happen. 

"  Come !  "  said  the  stranger. 

"  Yes,  let  us  go,"  said  the  young  Tsar,  not 
knowing  where  he  was  to  go,  but  quite  aware 
that  he  could  not  help  submitting  to  the  com- 
mand of  the  stranger.  "  But  how  shall  we  go?  '* 
he  asked. 

**  In  this  way.'' 

The  stranger  laid  his  hand  on  the  Tsar's  head, 
and  the  Tsar  for  a  moment  lost  consciousness. 
He  could  not  tell  whether  he  had  been  uncon- 
scious a  long  or  a  short  time,  but  when  he  re- 
covered his  senses  he  found  himself  in  a  strange 
place.  The  first  thing  he  was  aware  of  was  a 
strong  and  stifling  smell  of  sewage.  The  place 
in  which  he  stood  was  a  broad  passage  lit  by  the 
red  glow  of  two  dim  lamps.  Running  along  one 
side  of  the  passage  was  a  thick  wall  with  windows 
protected  by  iron  gratings.  On  the  other  side 
were  doors  secured  with  locks.  In  the  passage 
stood  a  soldier,  leaning  up  against  the  wall,  asleep. 


268  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

Through  the  doors  the  young  Tsar  heard  the 
muffled  sound  of  living  human  beings:  not  of 
one  alone,  but  of  many.  He  was  standing  at  the 
side  of  the  young  Tsar,  and  pressing  his  shoulder 
slightly  with  his  soft  hand,  pushed  him  to  the 
first  door,  unmindful  of  the  sentry.  The  young 
Tsar  felt  he  could  not  do  otherwise  than  yield, 
and  approached  the  door.  To  his  amazement 
the  sentry  looked  straight  at  him,  evidently  with- 
out seeing  him,  as  he  neither  straightened  himself 
up  nor  saluted,  but  yawned  loudly  and,  lifting 
his  hand,  scratched  the  back  of  his  neck.  The 
door  had  a  small  hole,  and  in  obedience  to  the 
pressure  of  the  hand  that  pushed  him,  the  young 
Tsar  approached  a  step  nearer  and  put  his  eye  to 
the  small  opening.  Close  to  the  door,  the  foul 
smell  that  stifled  him  was  stronger,  and  the  young 
Tsar  hesitated  to  go  nearer,  but  the  hand  pushed 
him  on.  He  leaned  forward,  put  his  eye  close 
to  the  opening,  and  suddenly  ceased  to  perceive 
the  odour.  The  sight  he  saw  deadened  his  sense 
of  smell.  In  a  large  room,  about  ten  yards  long 
and  six  yards  wide,  there  walked  unceasingly  from 
one  end  to  the  other,  six  men  in  long  grey 
coats,  some  in  felt  boots,  some  barefoot.  There 
were  over  twenty  men  in  all  in  the  room,  but 
in  that  first  moment  the  young  Tsar  only  saw 
those  who  were  walking  with  quick,  even,  silent 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  269 

steps.  It  was  a  horrid  sight  to  watch  the  con- 
tinual, quick,  aimless  movements  of  the  men  who 
passed  and  overtook  each  other,  turning  sharply 
when  they  reached  the  wall,  never  looking  at  one 
another,  and  evidently  concentrated  each  on  his 
own  thoughts.  The  young  Tsar  had  observed  a 
similar  sight  one  day  when  he  was  watching  a  tiger 
in  a  menagerie  pacing  rapidly  with  noiseless  tread 
from  one  end  of  his  cage  to  the  other,  waving  its 
tail,  silently  turning  when  It  reached  the  bars,  and 
looking  at  nobody.  Of  these  men  one,  appar- 
ently a  young  peasant,  with  curly  hair,  would 
have  been  handsome  were  it  not  for  the  unnatural 
pallor  of  his  face,  and  the  concentrated,  wicked, 
scarcely  human,  look  in  his  eyes.  Another  was 
a  Jew,  hairy  and  gloomy.  The  third  was  a  lean 
old  man,  bald,  with  a  beard  that  had  been  shaven 
and  had  since  grown  like  bristles.  The  fourth  was 
extraordinarily  heavily  built,  with  well-developed 
BTiuscles,  a  low  receding  forehead  and  a  flat  nose. 
The  fifth  was  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  long, 
thin,  obviously  consumptive.  The  sixth  was 
small  and  dark,  with  nervous,  convulsive  move- 
ments. He  walked  as  if  he  were  skipping,  and 
muttered  continuously  to  himself.  They  were 
all  walking  rapidly  backwards  and  forwards  past 
the  hole  through  which  the  young  Tsar  was  look- 
ing.    He  watched  their  faces  and  their  gait  with 


270  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

keen  Interest.  Having  examined  them  closely,  he 
presently  became  aware  of  a  number  of  other  men 
at  the  back  of  the  room,  standing  round,  or  lying 
on  the  shelf  that  served  as  a  bed.  Standing  close 
to  the  door  he  also  saw  the  pall  which  caused 
such  an  unbearable  stench.  On  the  shelf  about 
ten  men,  entirely  covered  with  their  cloaks,  were 
sleeping.  A  red-haired  man  with  a  huge  beard 
was  sitting  sideways  on  the  shelf,  with  his  shirt 
off.  He  was  examining  It,  lifting  It  up  to  the 
light,  and  evidently  catching  the  vermin  on  It. 
Another  man,  aged  and  white  as  snow,  stood  with 
his  profile  turned  towards  the  door.  He  was 
praying,  crossing  himself,  and  bowing  low,  ap- 
parently so  absorbed  in  his  devotions  as  to  be 
oblivious  of  all  around  him. 

"  I  see  —  this  Is  a  prison,"  thought  the  young 
Tsar.  *'  They  certainly  deserve  pity.  It  Is  a 
dreadful  life.  But  It  cannot  be  helped.  It  Is 
their  own  fault." 

But  this  thought  had  hardly  come  into  his 
head  before  he,  who  was  his  guide,  replied  to 
It. 

"  They  are  all  here  under  lock  and  key  by  your 
order.  They  have  all  been  sentenced  In  your 
name.  But  far  from  meriting  their  present  con- 
dition which  is  due  to  your  human  judgment,  the 
greater  part  of  them  are  far  better  than  you  or 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  271 

those  who  were  their  judges  and  who  keep  them 
here.  This  one  "  —  he  pointed  to  the  handsome, 
curly-headed  fellow  —  ''  Is  a  murderer.  I  do  not 
consider  him  more  guilty  than  those  who  kill  in 
war  or  in  duelling,  and  are  rewarded  for  their 
deeds.  He  had  neither  education  nor  moral 
guidance,  and  his  life  had  been  cast  among  thieves 
and  drunkards.  This  lessens  his  guilt,  but  he  has 
done  wrong,  nevertheless,  in  being  a  murderer. 
He  killed  a  merchant,  to  rob  him.  The  other 
man,  the  Jew,  Is  a  thief,  one  of  a  gang  of  thieves. 
That  uncommonly  strong  fellow  is  a  horse-stealer, 
and  guilty  also,  but  compared  with  others  not  as 
culpable.  Look!" — and  suddenly  the  young 
Tsar  found  himself  in  an  open  field  on  a  vast 
frontier.  On  the  right  were  potato  fields;  the 
plants  had  been  rooted  out,  and  were  lying  in 
heaps,  blackened  by  the  frost;  in  alternate  streaks 
were  rows  of  winter  corn.  In  the  distance  a  little 
village  with  its  tiled  roofs  was  visible;  on  the  left 
were  fields  of  winter  corn,  and  fields  of  stubble. 
No  one  was  to  be  seen  on  any  side,  save  a  black 
human  figure  in  front  at  the  border-line,  a  gun 
slung  on  his  back,  and  at  his  feet  a  dog.  On  the 
spot  where  the  young  Tsar  stood,  sitting  beside 
him,  almost  at  his  feet,  was  a  young  Russian 
soldier  with  a  green  band  on  his  cap,  and  with  his 
rifle  slung  over  his  shoulders,  who  was  rolling  up 


272  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

a  paper  to  make  a  cigarette.  The  soldier  was 
obviously  unaware  of  the  presence  of  the  young 
Tsar  and  his  companion,  and  had  not  heard  them. 
He  did  now  turn  round  when  the  Tsar,  who  was 
standing  directly  over  the  soldier,  asked,  "  Where 
are  we?  "  "  On  the  Prussian  frontier,"  his  guide 
answered.  Suddenly,  far  away  In  front  of  them, 
a  shot  was  fired.  The  soldier  jumped  to  his  feet, 
and  seeing  two  men  running,  bent  low  to  the 
ground,  hastily  put  his  tobacco  Into  his  pocket, 
and  ran  after  one  of  them.  "  Stop,  or  I'll 
shoot  I  "  cried  the  soldier.  The  fugitive,  without 
stopping,  turned  his  head  and  called  out  something 
evidently  abusive  or  blasphemous. 

"  Damn  you !  "  shouted  the  soldier,  who  put  one 
foot  a  little  forward  and  stopped,  after  which, 
bending  his  head  over  his  rifle,  and  raising  his 
right  hand,  he  rapidly  adjusted  something,  took 
aim,  and,  pointing  the  gun  In  the  direction  of  the 
fugitive,  probably  fired,  although  no  sound  was 
heard.  "  Smokeless  powder,  no  doubt,"  thought 
the  young  Tsar,  and  looking  after  the  fleeing  man 
saw  him  take  a  few  hurried  steps,  and  bending 
lower  and  lower,  fall  to  the  ground  and  crawl  on 
his  hands  and  knees.  At  last  he  remained  lying 
and  did  not  move.  The  other  fugitive,  who  was 
ahead  of  him,  turned  round  and  ran  back  to 
the   man   who   was  lying   on   the   ground.     He 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  273 

did  something  for  him  and  then  resumed  his 
flight. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean?  "  asked  the  Tsar. 

"  These  are  the  guards  on  the  frontier,  enforc- 
ing the  revenue  laws.  That  man  was  killed  to 
protect  the  revenues  of  the  State." 

"  Has  he  actually  been  killed?  " 

The  guide  again  laid  his  hand  upon  the  head  of 
the  young  Tsar,  and  again  the  Tsar  lost  conscious- 
ness. When  he  had  recovered  his  senses  he  found 
himself  In  a  small  room  —  the  customs  office. 
The  dead  body  of  a  man,  with  a  thin  grizzled 
beard,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  big  eyes  with  the 
eyelids  closed,  was  lying  on  the  floor.  His  arms 
were  thrown  asunder,  his  feet  bare,  and  his  thick, 
dirty  toes  were  turned  up  at  right  angles  and  stuck 
out  straight.  He  had  a  wound  In  his  side,  and 
on  his  ragged  cloth  jacket,  as  well  as  on  his  blue 
shirt,  were  stains  of  clotted  blood,  which  had 
turned  black  save  for  a  few  red  spots  here  and 
there.  A  woman  stood  close  to  the  wall,  so 
wrapped  up  In  shawls  that  her  face  could  scarcely 
be  seen.  Motionless  she  gazed  at  the  aquiline 
nose,  the  upturned  feet,  and  the  protruding  eye- 
balls ;  sobbing  and  sighing,  and  drying  her  tears  at 
long,  regular  Intervals.  A  pretty  girl  of  thirteen 
was  standing  at  her  mother's  side,  with  her  eyes 
and  mouth  wide  open.     A  boy  of  eight  clung  to 


274  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

his  mother's  skirt,  and  looked  intensely  at  his  dead 
father  without  blinking. 

From  a  door  near  them  an  official,  an  officer,  a 
doctor,  and  a  clerk  with  documents,  entered. 
After  them  came  a  soldier,  the  one  who  had  shot 
the  man.  He  stepped  briskly  along  behind  his 
superiors,  but  the  instant  he  saw  the  corpse  he 
went  suddenly  pale,  and  quivered;  and  dropping 
his  head  stood  still.  When  the  official  asked  him 
whether  that  was  the  man  who  was  escaping  across 
the  frontier,  and  at  whom  he  had  fired,  he  was 
unable  to  answer.  His  lips  trembled,  and  his 
face  twitched.  "  The  s — s — s —  "  he  began,  but 
could  not  get  out  the  words  which  he  wanted  to 
say.  "  The  same,  your  excellency."  The  of- 
ficials looked  at  each  other  and  wrote  something 
down. 

"  You  see  the  beneficial  results  of  that  same 
system !  " 

In  a  room  of  sumptuous  vulgarity  two  men  sat 
drinking  wine.  One  of  them  was  old  and  grey, 
the  other  a  young  Jew.  The  young  Jew  was 
holding  a  roll  of  bank-notes  in  his  hand,  and  was 
bargaining  with  the  old  man.  He  was  buying 
smuggled  goods. 

"  You've  got  'em  cheap,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Yes  — but  the  risk—" 

"  This  is  indeed  terrible,"  said  the  young  Tsar; 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  275 

"  but  It  cannot  be  avoided.  Such  proceedings  are 
necessary." 

His  companion  made  no  response,  saying 
merely,  "  Let  us  move  on,"  and  laid  his  hand 
again  on  the  head  of  the  Tsar.  When  the  Tsar 
recovered  consciousness,  he  was  standing  In  a 
small  room  lit  by  a  shaded  lamp.  A  woman  was 
sitting  at  the  table  sewing.  A  boy  of  eight  was 
bending  over  the  table,  drawing,  with  his  feel 
doubled  up  under  him  In  the  armchair.  A  stu- 
dent was  reading  aloud.  The  father  and  daugh- 
ter of  the  family  entered  the  room  noisily. 

"You  signed  the  order  concerning  the  sale  of 
spirits,"  said  the  guide  to  the  Tsar. 

"  Well?  "  said  the  woman. 

"  He's  not  likely  to  live." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

*'  They've  kept  him  drunk  all  the  time." 

"  It's  not  possible  I  "  exclaimed  the  wife. 

"  It's  true.  And  the  boy's  only  nine  years  old, 
that  Vania  Moroshklne." 

"  What  did  you  do  to  try  to  save  him?  "  asked 
the  wife. 

"  I  tried  everything  that  could  be  done.  I  gave 
him  an  emetic  and  put  a  mustard-plaster  on  him. 
He  has  every  symptom  of  delirium  tremens." 

"  It's  no  wonder  —  the  whole  family  are  drunk- 
ards.    Annlsia  Is  only  a  little  better  than  the  rest, 


276  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

and  even  she  Is  generally  more  or  less  drunk,*' 
said  the  daughter. 

"  And  what  about  your  temperance  society?  " 
the  student  asked  his  sister. 

"  What  can  we  do  when  they  are  given  every 
opportunity  of  drinking?  Father  tried  to  have 
the  public-house  shut  up,  but  the  law  Is  against 
him.  And,  besides,  when  I  was  trying  to  convince 
VasUy  Ermlllne  that  It  was  disgraceful  to  keep 
a  public-house  and  ruin  the  people  with  drink, 
he  answered  very  haughtily,  and  Indeed  got  the 
better  of  me  before  the  crowd :  *  But  I  have  a 
license  with  the  Imperial  eagle  on  It.  If  there 
was  anything  wrong  In  my  business,  the  Tsar 
wouldn't  have  Issued  a  decree  authorising  It' 
Isn't  It  terrible?  The  whole  village  has  been 
drunk  for  the  last  three  days.  And  as  for  feast- 
days.  It  Is  simply  horrible  to  think  of!  It  has 
been  proved  conclusively  that  alcohol  does  no  good 
in  any  case,  but  Invariably  does  harm,  and  it 
has  been  demonstrated  to  be  an  absolute  poison. 
Then,  ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  the  crimes  In  the 
world  are  committed  through  Its  Influence.  We 
all  know  how  the  standard  of  morality  and  the 
general  welfare  Improved  at  once  In  all  the  coun- 
tries where  drinking  has  been  suppressed  —  like 
Sweden  and  Finland,  and  we  know  that  It  can  be 
suppressed  by  exercising  a  moral  Influence  over 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  277 

the  masses.  But  in  our  country  the  class  which 
could  exert  that  Influence  —  the  Government,  the 
Tsar  and  his  officials  —  simply  encourage  drink. 
Their  main  revenues  are  drawn  from  the  continual 
drunkenness  of  the  people.  They  drink  them- 
selves —  they  are  always  drinking  the  health  of 
somebody :  *  Gentlemen,  the  Regiment !  '  The 
preachers  drink,  the  bishops  drink — '' 

Again  the  guide  touched  the  head  of  the  young 
Tsar,  who  again  lost  consciousness.  This  time  he 
found  himself  In  a  peasant's  cottage.  The  peas- 
ant —  a  man  of  forty,  with  red  face  and  blood- 
shot eyes  —  was  furiously  striking  the  face  of  an 
old  man,  who  tried  In  vain  to  protect  himself  from 
the  blows.  The  younger  peasant  seized  the  beard 
of  the  old  man  and  held  It  fast 

"  For  shame !     To  strike  your  father  —  I  " 

"  I  don't  care,  I'll  kill  him !  Let  them  send 
me  to  Siberia,  I  don't  care !  " 

The  women  were  screaming.  Drunken  officials 
rushed  Into  the  cottage  and  separated  father  and 
son.  The  father  had  an  arm  broken  and  the  son's 
beard  was  torn  out.  In  the  doorway  a  drunken 
girl  was  making  violent  love  to  an  old  besotted 
peasant. 

"  They  are  beasts !  "  said  the  young  Tsar. 

Another  touch  of  his  guide's  hand  and  the 
young  Tsar  awoke  in  a  new  place.     It  was  the 


278  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

office  of  the  justice  of  the  peace.  A  fat,  bald- 
headed  man,  with  a  double  chin  and  a  chain  round 
his  neck,  had  just  risen  from  his  seat,  and  was 
reading  the  sentence  in  a  loud  voice,  while  a  crowd 
of  peasants  stood  behind  the  grating.  There  was 
a  woman  in  rags  in  the  crowd  who  did  not  rise. 
The  guard  gave  her  a  push. 

''  Asleep !  I  tell  you  to  stand  up  I "  The 
woman  rose. 

"  According  to  the  decree  of  his  Imperial 
Majesty — "  the  judge  began  reading  the  sen- 
tence. The  case  concerned  that  very  woman. 
She  had  taken  away  half  a  bundle  of  oats  as  she 
was  passing  the  thrashing-floor  of  a  landowner. 
The  justice  of  the  peace  sentenced  her  to  two 
months'  imprisonment.  The  landowner  whose 
oats  had  been  stolen  was  among  the  audi- 
ence. When  the  judge  adjourned  the  court  the 
landowner  approached,  and  shook  hands,  and  the 
judge  entered  Into  conversation  with  him.  The 
next  case  was  about  a  stolen  samovar.  Then 
there  was  a  trial  about  some  timber  which  had 
been  cut,  to  the  detriment  of  the  landowner. 
Some  peasants  were  being  tried  for  having  as- 
saulted the  constable  of  the  district. 

When  the  young  Tsar  again  lost  consciousness, 
he  awoke  to  find  himself  in  the  middle  of  a  vil- 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  279 

lage,  where  he  saw  hungry,  half-frozen  children 
and  the  wife  of  the  man  who  had  assaulted  the 
constable  broken  down  from  overwork. 

Then  came  a  new  scene.  In  Siberia,  a  tramp 
Is  being  flogged  with  the  lash,  the  direct  result  of 
an  order  issued  by  the  Minister  of  Justice.  Again 
oblivion,  and  another  scene.  The  family  of  a 
Jewish  watchmaker  Is  evicted  for  being  too  poor. 
The  children  are  crying,  and  the  Jew,  Isaaks,  Is 
greatly  distressed.  At  last  they  come  to  an  ar- 
rangement, and  he  is  allowed  to  stay  on  in  the 
lodgings. 

The  chief  of  police  takes  a  bribe.  The  gov- 
ernor of  the  province  also  secretly  accepts  a  bribe. 
Taxes  are  being  collected.  In  the  village,  while 
a  cow  is  sold  for  payment,  the  police  Inspector  Is 
bribed  by  a  factory  owner,  who  thus  escapes  taxes 
altogether.  And  again  a  village  court  scene,  and 
a  sentence  carried  Into  execution  —  the  lash  I 

"  Ilia  Vasilievlch,  could  you  not  spare  me 
that?'* 

"  No." 

The  peasant  burst  Into  tears.  "Well,  of 
course,  Christ  suffered,  and  He  bids  us  suffer 
too." 

Then  other  scenes.  The  Stundists  —  a  sect 
« — being  broken  up  and  dispersed;  the  clergy  re- 


28o  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

fusing  first  to  marry,  then  to  bury  a  Protestant. 
Orders  given  concerning  the  passage  of  the  Im- 
perial railway  train.  Soldiers  kept  sitting  In  the 
mud  —  cold,  hungry,  and  cursing.  Decrees  is- 
sued relating  to  the  educational  institutions  of  the 
Empress  Mary  Department.  Corruption  ram- 
pant in  the  foundling  homes.  An  undeserved 
monument.  Thieving  among  the  clergy.  The 
reinforcement  of  the  political  police.  A  woman 
being  searched.  A  prison  for  convicts  who  are 
sentenced  to  be  deported.  A  man  being  hanged 
for  murdering  a  shop  assistant. 

Then  the  result  of  military  discipline:  soldiers 
wearing  uniform  and  scoffing  at  It.  A  gipsy  en- 
campment. The  son  of  a  millionaire  exempted 
from  military  duty,  while  the  only  support  of  a 
large  family  is  forced  to  serve.  The  university: 
a  teacher  relieved  of  military  service,  while  the 
most  gifted  musicians  are  compelled  to  perform' 
It.  Soldiers  and  their  debauchery  —  and  the 
spreading  of  disease. 

Then  a  soldier  who  has  made  an  attempt  to 
desert.  He  is  being  tried.  Another  is  on  trial 
for  striking  an  officer  who  has  Insulted  his  mother. 
He  is  put  to  death.  Others,  again,  are  tried  for 
having  refused  to  shoot.  The  runaway  soldier 
sent  to  a  disciplinary  battalion  and  flogged  to 
death.     Another,  who  Is  guiltless,  flogged,   and 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  281 

his  wounds  sprinkled  with  salt  till  he  dies.  One 
of  the  superior  olBlicers  stealing  money  belonging 
to  the  soldiers.  Nothing  but  drunkenness,  de- 
bauchery, gambling,  and  arrogance  on  the  part  of 
the  authorities. 

What  is  the  general  condition  of  the  people: 
the  children  are  half-starving  and  degenerate;  the 
houses  are  full  of  vermin;  an  everlasting  dull 
round  of  labour,  of  submission,  and  of  sadness. 
On  the  other  hand:  ministers,  governors  of  prov- 
inces, covetous,  ambitious,  full  of  vanity,  and 
anxious  to  inspire  fear. 

"  But  where  are  men  with  human  feelings?** 

"  I  will  show  you  where  they  are." 

Here  is  the  cell  of  a  woman  in  solitary  confine- 
ment at  Schlusselburg.  She  Is  going  mad.  Here 
is  another  woman  —  a  girl  —  Indisposed,  violated 
by  soldiers.  A  man  In  exile,  alone,  embittered, 
half-dead.  A  prison  for  convicts  condemned  to 
hard  labour,  and  women  flogged.  They  are 
many. 

Tens  of  thousands  of  the  best  people.  Some 
shut  up  In  prisons,  others  ruined  by  false  educa- 
tion, by  the  vain  desire  to  bring  them  up  as  we 
wish.  But  not  succeeding  in  this,  whatever  might 
have  been  Is  ruined  as  well,  for  It  Is  made  Impos- 
sible. It  Is  as  if  we  were  trying  to  make  buck- 
wheat out  of  corn  sprouts  by  splitting  the  ears. 


282  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

One  may  spoil  the  corn,  but  one  could  never 
change  it  to  buckwheat.  Thus  all  the  youth  of 
the  world,  the  entire  younger  generation,  is  being 
ruined. 

But  woe  to  those  who  destroy  one  of  these  little 
ones,  woe  to  you  if  you  destroy  even  one  of 
them.  On  your  soul,  however,  are  hosts  of  them, 
who  have  been  ruined  in  your  name,  all  of  those 
over  whom  your  power  extends. 

**  But  what  can  I  do?  "  exclaimed  the  Tsar  in 
despair.  **  I  do  not  wish  to  torture,  to  flog,  to 
corrupt,  to  kill  any  one !  I  only  want  the  welfare 
of  all.  Just  as  I  yearn  for  happiness  myself,  so  I 
want  the  world  to  be  happy  as  well.  Am  I  actu- 
ally responsible  for  everything  that  is  done  in  my 
name?  What  can  I  do?  What  am  I  to  do  to 
rid  myself  of  such  a  responsibility?  What  can  I 
do  ?  I  do  not  admit  that  the  responsibility  for  all 
this  is  mine.  If  I  felt  myself  responsible  for  one- 
hundredth  part  of  it,  I  would  shoot  myself  on  the 
spot.  It  would  not  be  possible  to  live  if  that  were 
true.  But  how  can  I  put  an  end  to  all  this  evil? 
It  is  bound  up  with  the  very  existence  of  the 
State.  I  am  the  head  of  the  State !  What  am  I 
to  do?  Kill  myself?  Or  abdicate?  But  that 
would  mean  renouncing  my  duty.  O  God,  O  God, 
God,  help  me !  "     He  burst  into  tears  and  awoke. 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  it  was  only  a  dream," 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  283 

was  his  first  thought.  But  when  he  began  to 
recollect  what  he  had  seen  in  his  dream,  and  to 
compare  it  with  actuality,  he  realised  that  the 
problem  propounded  to  him  in  dream  remained 
just  as  important  and  as  insoluble  now  that  he  was 
awake.  For  the  first  time  the  young  Tsar  became 
aware  of  the  heavy  responsibility  weighing  on  him, 
and  was  aghast.  His  thoughts  no  longer  turned 
to  the  young  Queen  and  to  the  happiness  he  had 
anticipated  for  that  evening,  but  became  centred 
on  the  unanswerable  question  which  hung  over 
him :  "  What  was  to  be  done?  " 

In  a  state  of  great  agitation  he  arose  and  went 
into  the  next  room.  An  old  courtier,  a  co-worker 
and  friend  of  his  father's,  was  standing  there  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  in  conversation  with  the 
young  Queen,  who  was  on  her  way  to  join  her 
husband.  The  young  Tsar  approached  them,  and 
addressing  his  conversation  principally  to  the  old 
courtier,  told  him  what  he  had  seen  in  his  dream 
and  what  doubts  the  dream  had  left  in  his  mind. 

*'  That  is  a  noble  idea.  It  proves  the  rare 
nobility  of  your  spirit,"  said  the  old  man.  "  But 
forgive  me  for  speaking  frankly  —  you  are  too 
kind  to  bp  an  emperor,  and  you  exaggerate  your 
responsibility.  In  the  first  place,  the  state  of 
things  is  not  as  you  imagine  it  to  be.  The  people 
are  not  poor.     They  are  well-to-do.     Those  who 


284  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

are  poor  are  poor  through  their  own  fault.  Only 
the  guilty  are  punished,  and  if  an  unavoidable 
•mistake  does  sometimes  occur,  it  is  like  a  thunder- 
bolt —  an  accident,  or  the  will  of  God.  You  have 
but  one  responsibility:  to  fulfil  your  task  coura- 
geously and  to  retain  the  power  that  is  given  to 
you.  You  wish  the  best  for  your  people  and  God 
sees  that.  As  for  the  errors  which  you  have  com- 
mitted unwittingly,  you  can  pray  for  forgiveness, 
and  God  will  guide  you  and  pardon  you.  All  the 
•more  because  you  have  done  nothing  that  demands 
forgiveness,  and  there  never  have  been  and  never 
will  be  men  possessed  of  such  extraordinary  qual- 
ities as  you  and  your  father.  Therefore  all  we 
implore  you  to  do  is  to  live,  and  to  reward  our 
endless  devotion  and  love  with  your  favour,  and 
every  one,  save  scoundrels  who  deserve  no  happi- 
ness, will  be  happy." 

"What  do  you  think  about  that?"  the  young 
Tsar  asked  his  wife. 

'*  I  have  a  different  opinion,"  said  the  clever 
young  woman,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  a  free 
country.  "  I  am  glad  you  had  that  dream,  and  I 
agree  with  you  that  there  are  grave  responsibili- 
ties resting  upon  you.  I  have  often  thought  about 
it  with  great  anxiety,  and  I  think  there  is  a  simple 
means  of  casting  off  a  part  of  the  responsibility 


THE  YOUNG  TSAR  285 

you  are  unable  to  bear,  if  not  all  of  It.  A  large 
proportion  of  the  power  which  is  too  heavy  for 
you,  you  should  delegate  to  the  people,  to  its 
representatives,  reserving  for  yourself  only  the 
supreme  control,  that  is,  the  general  direction  of 
the  affairs  of  State." 

The  Queen  had  hardly  ceased  to  expound  her 
views,  when  the  old  courtier  began  eagerly  to 
refute  her  arguments,  and  they  started  a  polite 
but  very  heated  discussion. 

For  a  time  the  young  Tsar  followed  their  argu- 
'jnents,  but  presently  he  ceased  to  be  aware  of 
what  they  said,  listening  only  to  the  voice  of  him 
who  had  been  his  guide  in  the  dream,  and  who 
was  now  speaking  audibly  in  his  heart. 

"  You  are  not  only  the  Tsar,"  said  the  voice, 
"  but  more.  You  are  a  human  being,  who  only 
yesterday  came  into  this  world,  and  will  perchance 
to-morrow  depart  out  of  it.  Apart  from  your 
duties  as  a  Tsar,  of  which  that  old  man  Is  now 
speaking,  you  have  more  immediate  duties  not  by 
any  means  to  be  disregarded;  human  duties,  not 
the  duties  of  a  Tsar  towards  his  subjects,  which 
are  only  accidental,  but  an  eternal  duty,  the  duty 
of  a  man  in  his  relation  to  God,  the  duty  toward 
your  own  soul,  which  Is  to  save  it,  and  also,  to 
serve  God  In  establishing  his  kingdom  on  earth. 


286  THE  YOUNG  TSAR 

You  are  not  to  be  guarded  in  your  actions  either 
by  what  has  been  or  what  will  be,  but  only  by 
what  it  is  your  own  duty  to  do. 

He  opened  his  eyes  —  his  wife  was  awakening 
him.  Which  of  the  three  courses  the  young  Tsar 
chose,  will  be  told  in  fifty  years. 


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